Through Thick and Thin Revised and Reposted
by popcorn1001
Summary: Reposted with permission. The journey of friendship often entails both the thick and the thin. This is the story of Roger and Mark, best friends, from the moment they meet right up until December 24h, 9PM EST. The beginning of Rent. Hope you enjoy!
1. Mr Cohen and Roger

_**A/N: I had posted this story under my old penname, but you'll be glad to know, it's up again and it's been revised. So this story is REVISED AND REPOSTED with permission from the previous author Loves-To-Write-Ready-To-Listen, who just happens to be me... also I don't own RENT, I'm not saying it again.**_

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* * *

**__**Through Thick and Thin**_

**Chapter One**

I was nervous and late as I rushed towards my homeroom, or what I hoped was my homeroom on the first day off class. Right, left, left, straight, room 242, I check my timetable just to make sure. Perfect. I check again. I wonder about knocking but there are already kids in the room, so I just go inside, find a seat in the back corner, and plunk myself down. I push my glasses up my nose, and observe.

Our teacher isn't here yet, my first day of high school, and already I see how unruly normal teenagers are. I, of course, am not a normal teenager. I'm not a normal boy. Not normal at all. I'd rather sit and watch, then join in, I'm never upset when someone doesn't pick me. Quite frankly, I'd rather read a book, or take pictures then play baseball or play fight with friends. Not that I have any friends. Normal people have friends. Now, I see the normal people.

Some girls sitting in a circle near the teacher's desk, smiling and giggling and showing each other the colors of their nails. Why would you want to color your nails anyway? I never understood that. Anyway, as I watch, I wonder if the red head knows that the dark-skinned girl playing with her friend's hair is cutting herself.

I turn and see two boys arguing, loudly, over something I don't quite understand. That doesn't matter, all I know is that these two aren't really fighting, they're teasing each other, I suppose. The taller one punches the curly haired one on the shoulder, and when the curly haired guy flinches, the tall one just laughs.

The room is in a state of chaos. No one is sitting still; the room is already a mess. Airplanes of paper zoom above my head, and not one person seems to give a damn that our teacher is nearly ten minutes late. I wonder if they'll all leave eventually or if the teacher will show up and start the class. I sigh and glance around the room one more time; to make sure I took in everything. I hadn't. I had missed one person.

He was sitting in the back, on the left, while I was on the right, he had spiky bleached blonde hair, and he was hunched over something, I moved slightly to get a better look. It was a notebook, he was writing in, while muttering under his breath, then crossing out the word he had just written to start again. From this end of the classroom, I couldn't here what he was saying, but I bet he was frustrated. With each scribble of a word, he began getting a little more violent. I was intrigued, curious; I wanted to know what was in the notebook. He crossed out another few words, and just as our teacher walked in and the classroom quieted down, he said a word loudly enough for all of us to hear. "FUCK!"

I pressed my hand to my mouth to keep from laughing, it was amazing. The teacher looked at him, she was young and nervous looking. Her blonde hair curled around her shoulders and she smiled at him. "Now…I don't tolerate that kind of language in my class Mister…"

"Roger."

"Mister Rogers."

"No. Not Mr. Rogers. Roger. Roger Davis, Roger."

"Right, Mr. Davis, I do not tolerate that kind of language, and if it happens again, you will have a detention."

"Do you think I care? And I told you. It's Roger." He spelt out his name slowly, "R-O-G-E-R, five letters, and two syllables, not hard to say. Use it. I'm not a mister."

Now I was laughing. Carefully hidden in the shadows, but other kids were staring at Roger in awe. The teacher tried again, "Roger, one more comment and you will be suspended."

Roger said nothing more, and the teacher introduced herself, "Hello, I am Miss Katie Hudson." She pushed a strand of hair back and smoothed her denim skirt. "I will be teaching you ninth grade English, this is my first day here, I used to teach grade three, so I'm just as nervous as you all are." She giggled. "So, first things, I think we're gonna get to know each other, right, so, everyone pick a partner, and write down three new things about your classmate, at the end of the period we'll share them." She turned around to write her name and the instructions on the board, as soon as her back was facing him,

Roger flipped her off, and mouthed something that look like "Fuck you bitch." And "We are not babies."

Miss Katie Hudson spun back around, wiped chalk on her black t-shirt, and clapped her hands. "Now, everyone find partners! Chop chop!"

There was much grumbling and eye-rolling, as people reached out for or went to sit near their friends. I had been home schooled until this time, was left alone, I was friendless. I sighed, and ran a hair through my short blonde hair this was what I had been afraid of. Then I noticed I wasn't the only person who was alone, Roger had not looked up from his notebook, since he gave Miss Hudson the finger.

Unfortunately, Miss Hudson noticed too, and her blue eyes sparkled behind silver framed lenses, and she let out the biggest smile I had ever seen. "Roger, why don't you go over and sit with Mr." she paused, unsure of my name.

"Mark. Mark Cohen, I'm Mark." I told her, I knew what Roger meant about last names, I was too young to be a mister, and Mr. Cohen was my father, I never wanted to be my father.

"Roger, why don't you go over and sit with Mr. Cohen."

I cringed at the surname and was surprised when Roger actually got up, grabbing his notebook, and dragged his chair over to where I was. "So, Mark. Give me three things I know about you so I don't fail this class. They don't have to be good; I only need a 50."

I thought for a moment, and then said, "I've been home schooled until now, I'm horrible at making friends, and I've lived in Scarsdale all my life."

"Okay." Roger said, and went back to writing and crossing out words.

"Hey! I need three things too." I protested.

"I'll give you two." Roger replied. "You'll have to guess the last one, or make it up, I don't really care."

"Okay." I said.

"I just moved here, and I don't give a crap about school." He informed me. Then he returned once again, to his notebook.

I leaned back and studied him. Since I was gifted at observing, I figured I could learn one thing about him, without him telling me, easily. I studied his hair first, then I moved down to his face, he had started shaving already, I knew because there was a five o clock shadow, on his cheeks and chin, a shade or two darker than the one on his head. He was obviously taller and stronger than me; he didn't care what he looked liked, wearing a wrinkled t-shirt underneath the leather jacket, and jeans with frayed bottoms and holes in the knees. Roger was humming under his breath, I realized, and as he scratched out whatever he had been writing he said, "Wrong word for that chord." I smiled… he was writing a song. Then, guessing that Roger would not like to have that revealed, I glanced at the hands that were doing all the work on the pages. Roger's left hand was blistered, and when he was not writing with his right hand, he had a pick in the hand. I knew what I would say for his third thing about Roger.

All of a sudden, Miss Hudson clapped her hands together in that rhythmic pattern you hear only for the primary grades, everyone ignored her. She cleared her throat, "Alright, time to share with the rest of your classmates what you have learned about your friends. Mr. Cohen, and Roger, you're up first." Clearly, she wasn't going to call me by my first name, Roger had intimidated her, I was intimidated _by_ her.

"C'mon Mark." Roger said, standing up.

"Okay." I said, boy, I was starting to use that word a lot. I followed Roger to the front of the class.

"I'll go first." Roger volunteered, and I shrugged, "Mark, here, well, I learned three things about him. He's lived in Scarsdale all his life. That's one. It's his first day of real school, he's been home schooled until now. Finally, Mark, like me, hates to be called by his surname, and especially, Mr. Cohen. So, Miss H, you can call him Mark, just like you call me Roger."

I glanced at Roger, those were not the three things I had told him, well, two were, but he had totally come up with the last one on his own, and told the teacher off. Roger caught my glance and just made a non-committal shrug of his shoulders. "Alright, well, Roger, here. He is new to Scarsdale." I paused, thinking. "Roger, well, I'm fairly sure; he'll be suspended at least once by the time school is out. Finally, Roger is a musician, a guitarist."

This time, Roger looked at me, shocked. I shrugged again; it was just something I had noticed. I always notice. "That's it." We said together, then grinned at each other. Then walked back, Roger grabbed his chair, and sat in his original spot.

I went back to observing, rather than listening to the rest of the class, while Roger had shut his note book, and was slowly strumming an air guitar. At last, the bell rang, and I hurried out the door, towards my math class, "Yo, kid." I turned toward to the voice, and realized it was Roger.

"Yeah?"

"What's your elective?" he asked.

What a weird question, I wonder why he even asked it, and if I should answer, but I say,"Photography… you?"

"Music." He said, rolling his eyes, "See you around then." And he left me in a state of confusion. I wondered what all that was about. And whether or not it mattered… for now, I decided to ignore it, and concentrate on finding my next class.

* * *

At lunch, I found a table, in the dark back corner, which was not taken by anyone else. I sat down, and plucked out my camera, I had seen a pattern that involved kids running in the aisles, and I didn't want anyone to step on the camera I had saved up for a year for. Kids didn't even care what they trampled over, or if they slipped in some apple juice that looked suspiciously like pee. I pulled out my brown bagged lunch, and opened it staring at the lack of food inside: One small juice box and a peanut butter sandwich. I was used to lunch at home, which was almost like dinner in my house. I wasn't even sure I wanted to eat this. But I shrugged and took a bite anyway. I wasn't all that impressed, but I was hungry. Sullenly, I pulled the crusts off; I still did this even though I was fourteen. It was more of a habit now, then anything.

Imagine my surprise, when Roger sat down across from me, "Hello Mark." He said looking at me like this was a perfectly normal thing to do.

"Why are you sitting here?" I asked.

"The other kids annoy me." He replied.

"I don't annoy you?" I asked, shocked.

"Well…" Roger smirked, "You do… just less then everyone else. You're the only person I've seen here who doesn't care about this damn place, and every little tradition."

"I don't care about this place." I told him and he smiled. "I want to go somewhere big… be famous for something to do with photography… or if I ever get enough for a video

camera… I'd like to be a filmmaker… you can't do that in a place like this."

Roger tilted his head and looked at me, "I'm going to be a famous song writer when I'm finished here. That's my Mom's only rule… graduate high school. Then I'm going to go somewhere big. New York City."

"New York City… I'd love to live there; my parents would never allow it though… not until I finish college, at whatever Ivy League school they want me to go to." I shrugged, happy to find someone to talk to.

"I take it your parents do care for the traditions in this city?"

"Yeah, it sucks. I'm supposed to be the picture perfect little Jewish boy, when I am anything but that." I said.

"Y'know what Mark?!" Roger exclaimed, "I think we're gonna be great friends."

* * *

R&R


	2. I'm Not a Psychiatrist

**A/N: Revised and Reposted with permission.**

**

* * *

****Chapter 2**

"Gah!" I exclaimed, furiously erasing a word. "Roger, help me."

"I'm not qualified to help you in that way Mark." Roger smirked. "I'm not a psychiatrist."

"That's not what I need help with-"

"I think it is." Roger interrupted, laughing.

"Shut up. Help me find a rhyme for flower." I replied. We're sitting in our homeroom English class where we first met, a month ago. This unit is poetry, the first was Shakespeare, and I wonder if you can see how those relate.

Anyway, I was fine in the Shakespeare unit we got to act a little, and I'm good at reading and writing scripts so it was easy for me to follow, poetry however, I can't write. And Roger is amazing, he says poems are just songs without music, but I can't write songs, so I don't know how that helps me.

"You're writing a poem about flowers?" Roger asks from his new seat beside mine. "Isn't that a little… gay?"

"Contrary to popular belief, I'm straight." I tell him, glaring slightly.

"Really?" he asked curiously, "I had you pegged as bi… not that I would've cared, but

anyway…"

"Are you gonna help me or not Rog?" I question.

"Sure. Even though your poem will make everyone think you're gay, and flowers are so

cliché," he answered.

"Everyone already thinks I'm gay, the poem's not gonna make much of a difference." I told him, "Rhymes?"

"Hmmm… flower rhymes with hour, tower, power, sour…" Roger paused and grinned, "Shower."

"Thanks." I said, and scribbled down the next line of my poem.

"Let me see." Roger demanded, and I tried to pull the paper away, but Roger was faster and he grabbed the paper from my hands.

"Fuck Mark, this is awful." He began to read it aloud, "_Like sunshine opens a flower, day is my finest hour. _That doesn't even make sense, how can day be your finest hour? _Now is my finest hour_ would work better."

I smiled, glad to know Roger was helping me, evn though he insulted me every chance he got. "Sorry, I guess rock stars are just better students then I am." I haven't seen Roger write a single thing down since this unit started a week ago, but he's getting 100% so far.

I know because, this is how it works, we have half an hour each period from Monday to Wednesday, and an hour on Thursday to work and a poem. On Friday we present them.

Today was Monday, on Friday, I had written a poem about a fire, with help from Roger, and scraped an 80, Roger had gone up completely unprepared, or so I thought. He said an incredible poem, with Miss H giving him a standing ovation and much applause at the end, and 100.

"Not better students," Roger argued, "Just better at writing tuneless songs. What's the point of a tuneless song anyway?"

"So… sing your poem Roger." I suggested. For all the fuss the rock star wannabe made, he never seemed to be able to sing in public, or maybe he just didn't want to.

"This isn't the kind of audience I want." Roger explained, "I need an audience who doesn't give a shit about this place."

"Then how come I haven't heard you play?" I asked, slightly sullenly, Roger had seen some of my photographs. I had never seen him play his guitar, and had only caught him singing once, under his breath. Roger tilted his head slightly.

"You want to hear a song?" Roger asked incredulously.

"Yeah, you've seen my photographs." I explained.

"But you're photos are amazing! My songs are… mediocre." Roger clarified.

"Rog, if your songs are anything like the poem you said on Friday, then you're amazing at what you do." I encouraged him.

"Fine." He stated, "You want to hear me play, you come over today after school, and I'll play for you."

I laughed, "My mother will never let that happen, not without meeting you first. And once she sees you, I'm pretty sure I'll be banned from talking to you ever again."

"Well, I could meet your Mom." Roger said, completely oblivious to anything other then the first sentence.

"Do you even listen to me?" I questioned.

"Sometimes, bits and pieces get through." He replied.

"Right, well, I suppose you can come and meet my mother today, but you'll have to be the perfect gentlemen, and I'll make up some story about your clothes." I give in.

"What's wrong with my clothes?" Roger inquired, hurt.

"My mom's not into rock stars." I explained again. "Whatever… want to see a new photograph?"

"Sure." Roger agreed, sensing I wanted to change to subject. I pulled out a photo album. I flipped through the mostly black and white pictures to the last page, where a potted flower sits in all its glory. The sun had been setting at the time, so the plant and pot cast a long shadow, the plants head wilted slightly. Roger stared for a moment then opened his mouth and closed it… and opened it again.

"Spit it out." I said frustrated.

"It's… great." Roger said after another moment or two. "That's what your poem is about?"

I nodded, glad he understood now.

* * *

I led Roger into my house, whispering rules, "Wipe your feet, take your shoes off, hang up that coat, hide it behind mine please, my mom will freak if she sees that here. Okay, ready to meet my mom?"

"Mark, Mark are you home?" a slightly nasally voice asked.

"Hi Mom," I call, "In the foyer! I have a friend here, I want you to meet him."

My mother walked into the foyer and grinned, "Oh! Marky! You made a friend!"

I blushed furiously, as my mom called me Marky. "Mom, this is Roger."

"Roger Davis, pleased to meet you Mrs. Cohen," Roger said politely and extending his hand, as my eyes nearly shot out of my head. I had never heard Roger speak to anyone like that.

My mother shook Roger's hand, "Roger, dear, you can call my Cynthia, if you would like. It's so nice for my Marky to have a friend… you know he's never really had one before… now that I think about it, except maybe Nanette Himmelfarb… you know her dear, the rabbi's daughter?"

"Mom!" I complained.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Cohen, but I'm not Jewish." Roger informed my mother.

"Oh, well, that's alright dear… you two go enjoy yourselves." She said and turned around walking back into the kitchen.

"Mom, can you wait a second?" I asked, half nervous, half laughing.

She faced me again, "Yes, Marky?"

"Is it alright if I go to Roger's house for a few hours?" I questioned hopefully.

"Of course dear, but you'll have to be back before dinner, and you know that's at 7 sharp." She responded.

"Mrs. Cohen, if you don't mind Mark could eat dinner at my house, my mom has already invited him to stay, so it won't be any trouble at all." Roger tried.

"Sorry dear, but Mr. Cohen thinks dinner should be a family affair. Be careful Marky and home by 6:45 so you'll have time to wash up dear!" My mom said, embarrassing me more then I ever thought she could.

"Yes mom!" I called on my way out the door behind Roger.

"C'mon Marky, my house is just 'round this corner Marky!" Roger laughed, he'd been calling me Marky since we left my house, and I didn't think he'd ever stop.

"Shut up, I still can't believe she liked you, she only seemed disappointed that you weren't Jewish Rog." I said, amazed.

"I didn't even know you were Jewish!" Roger cried.

"I'm not." I muttered, "My family is. Though I did mention it to you the day we met."

Roger ignored that, instead he chose to say"Aw, Marky is afraid to tell his family he doesn't want to be a Jewish boy anymore."

"Technically, Jewish man, I had my Bar Mitzvah over a year ago." I replied.

"Technically, schechnically." Roger answered. "Here's my house."

"You only live five minutes away?" I asked.

"Yup," Roger said cheerfully, as we enter the house and I follow him down the hallway.

"I didn't know until today though. It's fuckin' awesome."

"It is pretty awesome."

"C'mon Marky, say fuckin' awesome."

"Alright Rog, it is fuckin' awesome." I said, laughing as the unfamiliar swear word leaves my mouth. "Now do I get to hear you're song?"

"I just need to tune my guitar Marky!"

"Rog?"

"Mmm?" he responded halfheartedly concentrating on the acoustic he has across his lap.

"Stop calling me Marky."

He glanced up at me, an evil glint in his green eyes, "Never Marky."

* * *

R&R


	3. Traditions & Suspicions

A/N: Revised and reposted with permission. I own the song. I wrote it. Nothing else.

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**Chapter 3**

_"I see the looks you shoot at me,  
I hear all your suspicions,  
He s one out of control boy,  
He doesn t follow rules or traditions._

_But I don t wanna take over Dad s business,  
I just want to go to NYC.  
I don t wanna get married and have six kids.  
I m gonna be the greatest rocker you ll ever see._

_And so you can take your rules,  
And try to prove your suspicions.  
I ve got my guitar, and my car.  
Turn 18 and I ll be far away from your traditions._

_Gonna get my fifteen minutes of fame,  
Then I m gonna get fifteen more.  
Gonna sign records deal, left and right.  
And girls are gonna try and knock down my door._

_Some how I ll make you all see,  
Soon you ll be seeing my way,  
New York City s the only place to be.  
I m gonna let my music pave the way._

_And so you can take your rules,  
And try to prove your suspicions.  
I ve got my guitar, and my car.  
Turn 18 and I ll be far away from your traditions._

_So, I ll be the bad boy in the leather jacket,  
Just so you can point and stare.  
So, spread the rumors, behind those hands,  
Soon you ll get that I don t care._

_I ll be the odd-one-out.  
The son who doesn t take after Dad,  
I ll be the first to escape this place,  
And that s what you think is so bad._

_And so you can take your rules,  
And try to prove your suspicions.  
I ve got my guitar, and my car.  
Turn 18 and I ll be far away from your traditions._

_Got my guitar, got my car,  
Turn 18 and I ll be far.  
I ll be on a stage, just wait and see,  
I ll be rocking in NYC._

_Got my guitar, got my car,  
Turn 18 and I'll be far I ll be on a stage, just wait and see,  
I ll be rocking in NYC."_

The last chords of Roger's song faded out and I clapped enthusiastically. "Even better then last year when you played it for me," I said honestly.

"Well, I changed the notes in the beginning and then I changed this chord to the C chord and then I played it differently, I used..." Roger started to explain all the technical music mumbo-jumbo, that I had no hopes of understanding.

"Um, Rog-, you totally lost me." I said, and he laughed, "But it's still good." I checked my watch, "Shit, Roger, if I don t leave now, I ll be very late for dinner." I stood and made my way to the door.

"I still don t understand why you can t just stay here for dinner," Roger complained.

I had one foot out the door, but I turned back to tell Roger, "I just can't. My dad would never agree to it."

"Bye Marky!" he called out after me.

"Don't call me that!" I shouted back.

I slid into my seat at exactly 7:01. My sister Cindy, age nineteen, was smirking at my lateness. My father glared at me, "You're late Mark, and you know what that means right?" I nodded and hung my head.

"Answer me, and look me in the eye." My father said, angrier this time, "You know what this means right?"

"Dear, he's only one minute late why don't you let him off the hook this time, Tony?" My mother begged.

"Shut up." He told her, and I closed my eyes, but still heard the crack of my father's hand slapping my mother's face.

"Answer me, and look me in the eye." My father repeated, now thoroughly pissed, "You know what this means right?"

"Yes, sir," I replied, forcing myself to look up and into my fathers cold grey eyes.

"What does being late mean Mark?" he growled.

"Being late means that I am to go to bed without supper, sir," I stated, trying not to blink.

"That s right, so get upstairs, you good-for-nothing kid." My father slurred, his beer already half gone, while two empties sat beside him. "Get out of my sight."

I pushed my chair back, gently, and stood quickly heading for the stairs, as I passed my father he stuck his foot out and tripped me, cause me to fall flat on my face, and then he kicked me in the back, his steel toed boots hitting me just below my right shoulder blade. I bit my lip, forcing myself not to cry, knowing that if I did, it would get worse. So, I scampered up as quickly as possible, nearly running for the comfort of my room.

* * *

Roger hummed a tune to a song that had been forming in his head for the past few days, as he set the table. His mother had called from the kitchen and said that dinner would be ready in a few moments, and so he had set out the two dishes and the silverware that went with it. He then sat in his seat waiting for his food. His stomach growled. He laughed at it, and looked at the empty chair across from him; he kept the chair there in case one day Mark decided to stay.

Roger had known Mark for over a year and never once had they shared a dinner. Roger knew that Mark s father was strict, but he didn t think that dinner at a friend's house every once in awhile, was a ridiculous thing to ask for. Roger was thankful that his mom was fairly okay with things like that, as long as she knew where Roger was, she really didn t mind.

Roger s mother came out with the food, and served Roger and herself, and they enjoyed a quiet dinner. Roger s thoughts drifted in and out of his head, everything from homework to girls, to guitar. He chewed quietly, then thanked his mom, kissed her goodnight and went to work some more on that song that had been buzzing around his head.

* * *

The next day, I was late for school, something that rarely happens to me, so I didn t see Roger until lunch. He was sitting at our usual table his lunch bought already, as I unpacked my brown bag.

"Hey, where were you this morning?" Rog asked.

"Slept in," I lied. Roger raised his eyebrow, he didn t believe me. Mostly because he knew I was an overly happy early riser and morning person. When I stopped to pick him up from his house to walk to school most days, I was bright-eyed and smiling, while he rubbed sleep out of his eyes, grimaced and yawned.

"It happens to the best of us." He said, deciding to let it pass.

"Rog, you'd sleep 'til noon every day, if I didn't show up at your door at 7," I retorted.

"I didn't today." He commented.

"Did your mom wake you up?" I asked quizzically.

"Yeah," he admitted, "15 minutes late, I had to run to get here on time."

I laughed, "See?"

"Shut up, Marky!" Roger said, playfully slapping me on the back.

I cringed and Roger saw it, his face going stony. "Sorry, kid, did I hurt you?" Roger always reverted back to calling me kid, when he was worried about me, even though technically I was older than him.

"Yeah um, fell yesterday running home from your house." I lied again, my fingers tapping the table nervously.

"Stop lying to me!" Roger exclaimed suddenly, hitting me again, this time hard and on purpose.

Tears came to my eyes at he punched the big purplish-black bruise that was covered by my striped sweater. "Ouch!" I spat angrily. "Don' t do that!" I complained, moving away from him.

"Marky who?" he asked, simply. He pulled me down, gently, onto the bench beside him. I looked Roger in the eye, after wiping mine on my sleeve, "Rog -for my sake please-" I paused, "I fell."

"Okay, Marky." He said. You fell. He slung one arm around my shoulder, and spoke in a soft voice, "Sorry, kid."

"It's alright." I said, and then thought about how to change the subject, "You going to the Halloween Dance?" I asked.

"Why?" Roger questioned, raising his eyebrow, "Do you want to be my date?" he laughed.

"No. No. No." I stated.

"Damn, guess I ll have to ask another girl "

"HEY!" I protested, "I'm not a girl."

"Sure, that s what they all say." Roger teased.

"You never actually answered my original question." I reminded him.

"Oh, I dunno yet, don't want to go without a date," he replied, running a hand through his gelled and spiked hair.

"So just ask any girl. In fact, ask the next girl who passes. I bet you five bucks that she'll say yes." I dared, foolishly.

"Ask the very next girl who passes?" Roger asked, and I nodded, "You're so on."

Just then, our elderly secretary Mrs. Sinclair walked passed, and Roger burst out laughing. "You said next girl, right?" he asked, and then without waiting for me to answer, he stood, hopped over the table and tapped Mrs. Sinclair on the shoulder, "Hello, Mrs. Sinclair." Roger said, smiling like a fool.

"Hello, Roger, dear, I do hope you re not in trouble again. "She replied, a small grin gracing her white-haired, wrinkly face. Roger had been sent to the office twice this month already, and had been suspended for smoking in the boys room last year.

"Oh no, Mrs. Sinclair, I just wanted to ask you a question." Roger stated, grinning wider now.

"Of course dear, what question would that be?" Mrs. Sinclair asked sincerely.

"Will you go to the Halloween Dance with me?" Roger said, never breaking his facade.

Just then the bell rang, and Roger grabbed my arm, pulling me out of the cafeteria and towards the gym, where our next class was. "She never actually said no, Roger" I told him, as we entered the gym after getting changed.

"Ha, like she would've said yes." Roger snickered, "You owe me five bucks."

"Rog, you owe me 50 from last year want me to knock of some of that?" I told him, it was true, Roger was constantly borrowing five or ten bucks, and never giving it back.

"Nah, you ll get that back when we're famous, I want the cold hard cash." He told me.  
I sighed and handed him a five dollar bill. "Some things never change, huh Rog?"

"Yup, like today Marky, I m going whoop your ass at dodge ball, as usual."

* * *

R&R


	4. Following Maureen

A/N: Revised and reposted with permission.

* * *

**Chapter 4**

"You know, Marky, the point of _dodge ball _is to dodge said ball." Roger told me, smirking, while he leaned casually against the wall.

"Shut up," I muttered, holding the icepack to my head, sitting in the nurse's office.

"No." Roger replied, sticking his tongue out at me.

"Real mature…" I groaned, pressing the ice pack closer to the bruise on my temple.

"Roger?"

"Mhm?"

"Why am I such a klutz?" I asked, biting my lip, because no matter how much Roger says he didn't throw the ball _that_ hard, it still fucking hurt, and I refused to cry.

"Marky, I don't have the answer to these challenging questions." Roger answered, coming to sit beside me. "You're gonna be fine."

"Yeah, well, it still hurts." I complained, "And it's your fault."

"I disagree." Roger said, and I raised my eyebrow, "You see, this is what happened,"

Roger paused to take a deep breath, "We were in gym, playing our once-a-month game of dodge ball, and unfortunately we were put on opposite sides of the team, so I couldn't protect you-"

"I don't need protection!" I argued, and Roger hushed me pointing to the ice pack.

"Anyway, then I threw a ball at this guy, right, and I aimed for his shoulder and my aim was perfect, I might add. Then you walked in front of said guy, and see, he was a little taller then you, so, your head was at shoulder his shoulder level." Roger paused again, "Then you kinda fell. Then the teacher said I had to take you here, because I hit you… even though you really just got in the way of my shot."

I raised my eyebrow again at Roger's explanation, "So, that's your story huh?"

"Yup, that way I don't have to say I'm sorry." Roger grinned, and I grinned back, knowing in fact, that that was his apology.

The nurse came out then, and said I could head home, as long as I had someone to walk with. I nodded and pointed to Roger, and she smiled and said I was lucky to have such a good friend. I snorted and Roger glared, and shoved me.

Roger and I stood and headed out the front doors of school, after stopping at our lockers to get our coats. It had snowed for the first time last night, and the ground was covered in a thick white blanket. I zipped up tightly and gripped the handrail heading down the stairs that led out of our school.

* * *

My mom was waiting for me at the door, "Oh, hello Roger dear," she said without giving him a second glance, then ran and hugged me tightly, "Marky, your school called and said you hurt yourself, are you alright?"

I pushed her off, shaking my head, unsure how she could be so upset over my klutziness, but ignore my father's actions, "I'm fine Mom, and 'sides Roger hit me with the ball."

"Yup," Roger agreed cheerfully, "I did, don't worry, he's fine, it's just a small dent Mrs. Cohen." He joked.

My mom observed me for a moment longer then invited Roger inside, with words that shocked me, "Would you like to stay for dinner Roger?"

I gaped at my mom and started, "But Dad…"

"Your father is out of town until Monday," My mother said, her lips pressing into a thin line.

"I'd love to stay for dinner, Mrs. Cohen." Roger replied, the unusual polite tone in his voice. "I'd have to call my mother first though." And I swore he cast a spell, because my mother giggled and cooed about what a sweet boy Roger was and I wanted to show her the detention slip Roger had in his pocket for skipping history.

As my mum, Roger and I sat at the table for dinner (Cindy was at her "friends" house, my mum thought Tanya's, I knew Andrew's her boyfriend's), my mother announced suddenly, "Marky, dear, the Johnson's are coming over to spend Hanukkah with us, and they're bringing their daughter, Maureen, with them."

I choked on my food, and Roger watched me, biting back a laugh, "You okay?" he managed to say, and I nodded, after sipping some water.

"Yeah, fine, when will they be here Mom?" I asked, already dreading the arrival of the crazy-daughter, Maureen.

"They'll be here this weekend; you know Hanukkah starts the next weekend, Marky." My mother said sternly.

"Yeah, I know," I replied sulkily.

"You get to miss school?" Roger asked eyes wide.

"Yeah…" I nodded.

"Well, he can't go to school when we're celebrating a very important holiday at home, can he Roger?" My mother said, stabbing at a carrot with a bit more force then necessary, "Hanukkah is traditionally celebrated during the night, of course, but during the day, I'll need Marky's help with the cleaning and the cooking, it's just too big a job for me all by myself."

"Mark should not go to school, with all the work to be done. You'll need his help Ma'am." Roger said, looking at me enviously. The rest of dinner was finished in silence.

* * *

My mother had invited Roger to sleepover, since my father was not going to be back for awhile. So, after dinner we had run to Roger's house grabbed his stuff, he kissed his mother on the cheek while I waved and smiled at her, and then we rushed back to my house.

Now, we're sitting in my room, and Roger is still looking at me enviously. "What?" I said, irritated, and pulling at the loose threads on my quilt.

"You get 3 weeks of holidays." Roger complained grumpily.

I snorted and flopped onto my back on my bed unceremoniously, "Yeah, but it's not really a holiday, if I'm doing all that cooking and cleaning. Plus, after Maureen visits I'll need the two weeks to recover!"

"Who is Maureen, and what's so bad about her anyway?" Roger questioned suddenly, moving to sit on the edge of my bed. "I mean, your parents are letting a girl stay at your house, a girl whose the same age as you, I'd kill to be you man."

"Roger, not if you knew Maureen, you wouldn't." I replied, and grabbing my camera from the bedside table to snap a picture of the quizzical, look on Roger's face.

"Ah!" Roger grumbled, shutting his eyes after the flash, "Dude, not cool… but what did she do to you?"

"Ugh… it was my Bar Mitzvah." I cringed at the memory.

"Bar Mitzvah?" Roger echoed, reminding me, once again, that he was not Jewish.

"Yeah, it happens when you're thirteen, it the passageway to manhood, you read from this huge Hebrew book - actually it's a scroll called the Torah - and everyone celebrates." I explained briefly.

"Wait, so, you're a man?" Roger laughed at that idea, clutching his sides.

"Yeah, I guess. But Maureen's family is friends with mine, so she's been at every important celebration; I was at her Bat Mitzvah, which was exactly one month before mine, so she rubbed it in my face. Then she came to my Bar Mitzvah, and well I loved the hall, so I had been taking pictures of the room, and the guests, and everything I could… when suddenly she grabbed my camera out of my hands, and started taking pictures of me." I paused, getting angry as I relived the memory.

"What's so bad about that?" Roger questioned, "I take your camera at least once a week, and snap a photo of you…"

"Roger… she dropped it." I told him, quietly.

"Oh… it broke…" Roger stated, grinning, "Why is that so bad?"

"Imagine someone breaking your most prized possession… your guitar!" I explained, half-angry. "Someone you didn't want touching it, coming up, ripping it from your arms and then smashing it against a wall."

I snapped another few pictures as I watched Roger imagine this, thoughts and emotions dancing across his face. Roger was often the subject of my photos, simply because we spent so much time together.

"Now, I see what you're talking about…" Roger finally spoke.

* * *

The next week, a day before the Johnson's were to arrive, Roger and I sat in his room. He had my newest photo album spread open in front of him as he sat cross-legged on the floor. I leaned against his bed, shuffling sheets of loose-leaf paper with lyrics scribbled across them. I had learned to read Roger's chicken scratch, and he was now careful not to touch the actual photos, and get fingerprints on them. The cost of a bond of more then a year of friendship, though I considered him more of a brother then a friend now, even after such a short time.

"Mark, your photos kick ass," Roger said suddenly, stopping on a page of my favorites. "Though I'm a little freaked out that I didn't notice you taking most of these…"

I shrugged, "People always look better, when they're not posing for the camera."

"I guess…" Roger trailed off, and crinkled his brow, pointing carefully at a picture I had taken not too long ago, "Why did you take this?"

The photo was of Roger himself, sitting on his bed, guitar being strummed, eyes closed. And though there was no sound, and Roger's mouth was only slightly open, you could tell that he was singing. His spiked hair, perfect, his head tilted to the left a bit. "You looked…" I struggled to find the word, "Like you belonged behind your guitar, like it didn't matter that we're in this…"

"Hellhole," Roger supplied.

"Exactly," I answered, "You looked liked you didn't care, and the music was your getaway."

"It is…" Roger mumbled so quietly, that I doubt he meant for me to hear.

* * *

"Marky!" My mother called from the floor below, "the Johnson's are here, come downstairs!"

I rolled my eyes and muttered, "Just great, excellent present."

I made my way down the stairs, and stood beside my mother on the porch as the Johnson's came out. Mrs. Johnson had straight dark hair, was petite, with dark eyes, she held a basket of food as she walked up our driveway. Mr. Johnson was tall, and broad shouldered, with receding red curls, and grey eyes, he held three suitcases. Finally, Maureen exited their van, and she was stunning, still annoying, but stunning. She had reddish-brown curls that fell down her back, and chocolate brown eyes. She had a bag slung over her right shoulder, and stood with a hunched posture, crossed arms, and a full-lipped pout. Clearly she was just as unhappy to be here as I am. We all stumbled through greetings and entered the house, where the adults (including Cindy, now that she was over 18, though my parents watered down her alcohol) went into the living room to have a drink and Maureen and I were banished to the second floor.

I mumbled a short, quiet "hi…" to her, then, walked into my room and shut the door.

Two seconds later, Maureen opened the door and sat down on the floor. "Hey!" I exclaimed, "The door was closed." I mumbled afterwards.

"And now it's open." She stated calmly, "So, wanna blow this place? As long as were back by dinner, no one's even going to notice."

I thought about it for a moment, we would be in so much trouble, if we got caught. But I could be at Roger's right now, accomplishing more then I was sitting here and arguing with Maureen. "How're we gonna get out the front door without them noticing?" I questioned.

"We're not going to use the front door." Maureen said, and she tiptoed quietly downstairs and back up, clutching our coats in her small hands, "We're going out the window." She announced as she returned.

"We're what?" I asked incredulously.

"We're going out the window," she repeated, slowly, calmly. "It's not that hard, watch."

With that said, she pushed my window open, slid out of it, and crawled gracefully to the drain pipe, and from there she slid down. I watched in awe, wishing I had had my camera at that moment. I grabbed it off the nightstand, placed it in my bag and swung it over my shoulder, then I took a deep breath and step gingerly out of the window, following

Maureen Johnson for the first, but definitely not last time of my life.

* * *

R&R


	5. Forbidden Friendship

**Chapter 5**

It was the beginning 12th grade, and Roger and I sat in his car. He had bought it just after Christmas break, of grade eleven, and we now spent almost every moment in it. "This is the car that's going to take me to New York City." Roger said, one unusually hot September night.

"Roger, this car can barely get us to school. It breaks down every other day." I told him, "It will never get you to New York."

"Shh, don't make fun of her."

"Her?" I questioned.

"Well, obviously my car's not a dude." Roger replied matter-of-factly. We sat listening to the radio as a new song came on, or at least I thought it was new. Roger sang along to every single word, and in my opinion he had a better voice then the guy on the radio.

"Roger, if anyone can make it in New York, it will be you."

"Ha. I told you so." Roger grinned, then looked at the radio clock, "Mark...it's 7:15."

"Fuck." I replied, knowing that since I was already 15 minutes late, I would never make it to dinner without being punished, "You know what Roger?"

"What?" he asked.

"I don't care."

Roger looked at me incredulously and said, "I'm taking you home," he turned the key in the ignition and sped out of the deserted parking lot of the arcade. I gripped the seat tightly, Roger was not what I called a safe driver. Roger pulled haphazardly into my driveway, and I clambered out of the car, scared now that I saw the lights in the dining room shining through the front window. It was now 7:30. "Crap, crap, crap." I muttered as I waved to Roger, who sped down the street, narrowly avoiding the mailbox on the corner.

I rushed in, as quickly and quietly as I could. I tried to sneak into the kitchen, but my father's eyes snapped up as soon as he saw me, "Where have you been?" he demanded.

"I'm sorry, I was out with Roger, his car ran out of gas," I lied quickly.

"You should have called."

"I couldn't!" I shouted, immediately regretting the choice, but already angry enough to continue, "There are no phone lines in the middle of the road."

"Then you should have called at the gas station."

"I didn't go to the gas station! Roger did, he's faster then I am, and someone had to wait in the car!"

"I don't like this story of yours. It seems to easy, like you're lying to me," my father paused to take a large gulp of his drink – scotch tonight – then he said, "If there's one thing I hate worse then tardiness, it's dishonesty!" his fist shook and scotch dribbled onto his shirt from the glass in his hand, "Now look what you've made me do!" and I ducked his first swing, knowing that it would be worse the longer I avoided it.

I was in a reckless mood tonight. Roger talking about New York, and it being about a year away, I didn't know what to do. I think that I had a little bit of Roger in me that night, daring me to do and say things that normally I would never say or do. I dodged the second and third swing as well, adrenaline pumping through my veins, and aiding my normally klutzy reflexes.

"Stand still!" my father ordered, and I froze, mostly to save myself. My father poured the rest of his scotch – not much – down the back of my shirt, and then smashed the glass against the side of my face, where it shattered, it had been much abused tonight. I felt the blood trickle into the corner of my mouth from a gash on my cheek. I stood tall still, I didn't want my father to win easily. He wouldn't stop until he knocked me off my feet, and to do that he kicked me in the shins, and while my knees buckled I struggled to stay standing. "You will obey." my father stated as his thick hand crushed against the back of my neck forcing me to my knees. "Listen, Mark," my father whispered, which was even scarier then when he shouted, "You will do as I say. You will be on time for dinner from now on, do you understand?"

"Yes sir."

"You will not lie, do you understand?"

"Yes sir."

"And you will no longer continue to hang out, or whatever it is you call it, with your so call friend Roger, do you understand?"

This time it took me a bit longer to answer. My father's hand whipped backwards across my face, "Do you understand?"

"Yes sir." I whimpered, tears coming to my eyes at the pain, but also at the order.

* * *

Roger wasn't to worried when Mark didn't stop by his house for the ride to school in the morning. After all, Roger had known Mark long enough to figure out what happened when Mark was late for dinner. He didn't like it, but there was nothing he could do about it. Roger was sure he would see Mark at lunch anyway.

* * *

When Roger didn't see Mark at lunch, that was when he became concerned. The two were outcasts in high school, and though Roger hated to admit, eating your lunch completely alone was not only uncool, it was downright embarrassing. Mark's absence was also a mystery, Mark never missed school.

* * *

Mark was huddled outside, though the day was again, unusually warm for September. His glasses sat awkwardly on his swollen face, and the cut still sported some dried blood, but Mark could care less. His main goal today was to avoid Roger. It was inevitable of course that they meet, as they had the same gym class at the end of the day, but so far, Roger had been avoided for half the day. Mark was putting off telling his best friend that they could not longer be friends. He wasn't going to tell Roger the truth, Mark decided, it would get him into more trouble.

* * *

Roger sat in the bathroom, tempted to light up a cigarette, though he knew he would get in trouble, he leaned against the wall underneath the window, facing obviously the opposite way of the urinals, and pondered about Mark some more. At any rate, Roger was sure to see him in gym, in fact, Roger planned to corner him in the changing room and make him talk.

* * *

I was fearful as I slipped quickly into my gym shorts and Scarsdale High ratty grey t-shirt. Roger was sure to be around, no sooner than I thought that, I spun around and found myself face to face with Roger. "Where have you been?" Roger asked harshly, then he took a better look at me, and saw the cuts and bruises, "Mark, Mark, you should tell someone."

* * *

I shook my head, and suddenly every lie that I had prepared was forgot and the truth came tumbling out. "My father forbids me from seeing you ever again Roger."

"What the fuck?" Roger said, "He can't do that!"

"But... he can," I state simply, waving a hand and my mashed up face, and then pointing to the huge bluish-purplish-blackish bruise on my shin. "He already did."

"Mark, listen to me," Roger lowered his voice so no one could over hear us, though that was unlikely in the overcrowded, extremely noisy boys changing room. I nodded to Roger once, to let him know I was listening, "Is your..." Roger changed what he was going to say a second too late, "Is he going to keep doing this to you whether I see you or not?"

"Yes." I answered honestly, locking my blue eyes with Roger's green ones.

"Then we'll still see each other," Roger said, then he laughed, "I feel like I just broke up with you and told you we could still be friends."

Even I cracked a grin, though the movement hurt. "I can't do whatever sort of torture the coach has planned for us today, Roger, I need an excuse."

Roger took another look at me, and said, "You were helping your neighbour fix a shelf in the garage, when you dropped the board you were holding...no wait, the cut, let me see... you were baby-sitting for the neighbours toddler, when the toddler stumbled and nearly hit a wooden coffee table, you threw yourself down, scratching your cheek on the corner, but preventing the little runt from getting a concussion. Though the same, unfortunately cannot be the said for you. It's heroic and covers up any suspicion, and you're klutzy enough that that teacher will believe anything you say."

"True.... thanks."

"Don't mention it." Roger replied, and he went to thump me on the back, then though better, and reached for a nuggie, stopping when I squealed in pain. "You sure you really don't have a concussion Mark?"

"No. But there's not much I can do about it, is there?"

"You could-"

"No."

"Okay."

* * *

A/N: so this is just to let everyone know, I think that the Roger before heroin was slightly more overprotective. Because Roger after withdrawal is still protective of Mark, this is young Roger too, and maybe he's slightly more happy? That's the wrong word, naive, I suppose, thinking that Mark can't take care of himself. Which, he can't, but he doesn't need to know that now does he? I hope that explains what I find to be Roger slight OOCness. I already have the beginning of the next chapter, so it should be up soon. Tomorrow? Maybe if you're lucky.


	6. Well, You're Wrong Sir

**Chapter 6**

I fumbled with my camera, I had just received it, and wasn't quite used to it yet. It was the first film camera I ever had. Already though I knew it would be an important part of my life. It had was second-hand and a little beaten up, but it worked. Well, it worked if you remembered to turn the crank.

"Roger smile!" I called, pointing the camera at him, and though Roger graced the camera a quick glance, he did not smile. I furrowed my brow, and then it hit me, today was graduation. In a couple of weeks, I would ditch the town of Scarsdale for the school, Brown... Roger wasn't going back to school. I put the camera down, the crank still spinning slowly, "You sure you don't want to come to Brown with me?"

"I'm sure, Mark," Roger actually cracked a grin, "You gonna be a big time filmaker, taking all those shitty classes?"

"The classes aren't shitty!" I defended, "It's better than taking off to New York totally unprepared!"

"I'm no _totally_ unprepared – just mostly."

"Well, that's so much better," I said sarcastically, "When are you leaving anyway?"

"Tonight – after the party." Roger said calmly

My jaw dropped, "What?" I almost shouted, "Tonight? I thought we had at least half the summer!"

Roger shook his head, "I'm leaving tonight, plus we wouldn't have the summer anyway, you'll be getting ready to go to Brown, and we're not even supposed to be friends any-"

"Do you even have a place to stay?" I cut him off.

Roger rolled his eyes, "Yeah, I do. As I was saying – before you so rudely interrupted me – I'm leaving tonight, I'm going to go stay with that guy who's almost a teacher, Collins, you remember him?"

I had to think about it, but I did remember. It had been the summer before eleventh grade, when Roger was still allowed to be in my company, my father was out of town, and so my mother had decided to take me, Cindy, and a friend each to New York City. Cindy had said she was looking into transferring to NYU and so she my mother, and Cindy's boyfriend Ted, were all on the tour. Roger and I were under strict instructions not to leave the building. "Yeah, he taught that class we slipped into last time we were in New York, at NYU right? We talked to him after he finished teaching the class, though he was only a student teacher..."

"That's him, we told him we wanted to live in New York City and what we wanted to do, and he offered us a place to stay," Roger reminded me, "So, I called hims last week, the space is still open, but it will be mine soon, it could be ours, you could come with me Mark. It's where you belong too."

"I can't," I sighed, a frown replacing the curious look on my face.

"Mark, you already hate Brown," Roger told me.

"I do not!" I protested.

"Oh yes you do, Marky, you can't lie to me," Roger said, "I can see it in the set of your lips. I can hear the disgust in your voice, and mostly I see the fear and dread whenever Brown is mentioned, in your eyes. You could come with me." Roger tried again.

I sighed, Roger was right, but I had to do this. I had to for my parents, well, for my mother at least.

"Mark, you're eighteen, an adult now, you don't have to keep pleasing your parents," Roger announced as if he had read my mind, "Speaking of which, have you even told you father that you're going to Brown for film and not for pre-med?"

"Not yet..." I cringed at the thought of telling him, "I'm actually supposed to be doing that right now," I said with a quick glance at my watch, "I guess I should get going, oh, Roger, quick warning, Maureen's going to be here tonight."

Ever since my first time sneaking out with Maureen, Roger had hated her. Their meeting had not been a pleasant one, with me walking straight through Roger's front door, Maureen at my heels, and as I climbed to the stairs to Roger's room, I knocked once and then entered. Roger was bleaching his hair, and looked ridiculous and so Maureen had burst out laughing. "This guy is your best friend? He colours his hair! Like a girl!" Maureen's outburst had not been tolerated by Roger, ever since then anytime Maureen came to visit and I told Roger he would say...

"Well, that's just fucking great isn't it? I bet she makes fun of me when we have to wear those stupid dresses and hats."

"Probably," I said, now actually heading down the stairs of Roger's house and to the front door, I called back to him, "I'll see you tonight!"

* * *

My father was sitting in front of the tv, flicking through the few channels lazily, "Sir, can I talk to you?" I asked, glancing for any alcohol nearby.

"Is it important?"

"Yes, very, it's about Brown." I said.

"What about Brown? You haven't decided to remove your acceptance have you?" My father became angered very quickly.

"No, sir," I said, "It's just... I'm not going to Brown for pre-med."

"You're not?"

"No, sir," I repeated, "I'm going for filming."

"Filming, huh? That's a shit career move," my father said, "In fact, I guarantee you won't even make it a career."

"Well, you're wrong, sir," I said quietly.

"What did you say, Mark?" he asked me.

I cleared my throat and spoke loudly and clearly, "You're wrong, sir."

* * *

The small town of Scarsdale, meant that the graduating class was even smaller. So, by sheer coincidence I, Mark Cohen, stood in front of Roger Davis. I sighed and Roger rolled his eyes, the procession of the graduating students was about to begin, and since Roger and I were fairly close to the front, it meant at least half an hour of sitting in chairs while the rest of the students walked across the surprisingly large stage, and that was the only beginning.

Roger was looking at me, rolling his eyes, when he noticed something I hoped he wouldn't. "Mark, do you have the beginnings of a black eye?"

I nodded, giving a non-committal shrug of the shoulders, "It's not a big deal."

"You know we pose for photos right?"

"Yeah, but I hate photographs of myself, I'm better in the background."

"Still," Roger sighed, "You're Mom's photograph is going to be of you in your stupid dress and hat-"

"Cap and gown," I corrected.

"Whatever," Roger continued, "and a black eye. That's not going to be something to frame Marky."

"Good, then hopefully she won't put it up, or pull it out of her wallet to show everyone, every five seconds." I said as the music started, and Roger and I made our way across the stage.

What seemed like days, but was actually only a few hours later, we were free to mingle with our families. Roger quickly disappeared as my mother, father, and Maureen and her parents walked to meet me. I looked at my mother, tears streaming down her face, and she quickly wrapped me in a tight hug exclaiming, "Oh, Marky, I am so proud of you!" she exclaimed into my ear.

"Mom, Mom, thanks, but I can't breathe," I said, struggling to unwrap her arms around me. My father was silent as he looked at me, but Mr. Johnson clapped me on the shoulder and said, "Congratulations Mark," and Mrs. Johnson cooed over how grown up I was. It was only then that I got my first full look at Maureen, I had thought she was stunning before, now, she was even more so, if that was possible.

She had grown a few inches, as had I though, but we were almost the same height. Her hair still fell to her waist in the reddish-brown thick curls, she had filled ou tin some places, and she knew it too. You could tell she knew it, by the clothes she wore. Her tight burgundy top, showed off her curves, and the tight fitting jeans added to her appeal. I noticed every guy she walked past turned to do a double-take, even the girls were glancing back, albeit unwillingly. But what I thought was the most attractive feature no one else even seemed to notice, Maureen's large dark brown eyes, sparkled with mischief and my heart flipped.

"Marky," she greeted, flashing a full-lipped grin in my direction.

"Maureen," I replied, choosing to ignore the irritating nickname.

"Where's the party at tonight?" she asked, and I understood that this was her reason for coming, the only reason she didn't fight to stay at her house in the next town over.

"Um, I'm not sure," I replied, I had just planned to hop into Roger's car the moment I could get away from my parents.

"I bet Roger's knows!" Maureen shouted.

"Roger?" My father said suddenly, "Mark doesn't hang out with Roger any longer, does he? Roger was a bad influence, bad kid in my opinion, always in that leather jacket."

Thankfully, I was spared answering, as my father went on a tirade about boys who don't listen to their fathers, little did my father know that Roger's father had been out of the picture for years. Maureen suddenly pulled me to the side, "You still hang out with Roger, right?" she batted her eyelashes at me.

"Yeah, I do." I said, quietly.

"And he'll know where the party is right?" Maureen asked happily.

"Yeah, he will."

"Well, then I'm coming with you," Maureen stated, smiling brightly.

"Um, Maureen, Roger doesn't like you."

"'Cause I made fun of him for bleaching his hair?"

"Yes," I replied, "That's the reason."

"Well, that's a stupid reason," Maureen pointed out and I had to agree, "He'll just have to get over it, let's get out of here!"

We walked over to our mothers and I said, "Mom, a friend of mine is having a party, and he just invited Maureen, can we go?"

"Of course, Marky," my mother said, "but first I have a present for you." She handed me an envelope. I said thanks without looking at it, then turned and ran through the crowd looking for Roger.

* * *

Maureen was on my heels the entire time, this seemed familiar. Finally, I spotted Roger's spiky blonde hair and leather jacket, his cap and gown discarded a few feet away, I tapped his shoulder, and he turned around, grinning and then that grin fading as he saw Maureen. "She's coming with us?" Roger asked. I nodded and he shrugged, and eventually we all hopped into Roger's car.

* * *

As Roger drove at break neck speeds and Maureen laughed wildly in the back seat and I feared for my life, I remembered the envelope in my hands. "Oh yeah," I mumbled to myself, but Roger heard it.

"Oh yeah, what?" he asked.

"Mom got me a present, I wonder what it is..." I opened the envelope curiously. "No. She didn't."

"Didn't what?" Maureen shouted over the roaring of the car.

"Get me tango lessons!" I cried, severely mortified.

Roger and Maureen both burst into laughter. But Roger managed to ask, "Where?"

"Community Centre," I said, and because Maureen was poised to say when, "A week starting tomorrow."

"Does it say who your partner is?" Roger asked, "It's about time you found yourself a girl, Marky."

Unintentionally, I glanced back at Maureen as he said that, and my heart flipped yet again. Then I began rifling through the papers in the envelope, my eyes widened and I groaned.

"Who is it?" Maureen screeched, leaning as far forward as she could.

"Nanette Himmelfarb." I said.

Roger began to laugh again, "The rabbi's daughter?" he gasped. I nodded, and then I heard a beautiful sound. Maureen was giggling, I looked back at her again. Her head was tipped back, her eyes wide and joyful, hair windblown from the extreme speeds, and her laugh echoed round the car, I had to get this on film. I quickly pulled the camera from it's spot near my feet, and filmed her.

* * *

Later that night, while Maureen was dancing with several boys, and I stood away near the drinks, Roger found me. He had a beer in his hand, and was winking at every girl he passed, "Mark... you like her."

"I don't," I started to protest, then sighed as Maureen held her hands high in the air and spun in a circle, "Actually, that's a lie... I do."

* * *

** A/N: R&R!**


	7. Home

**A/N: As usual, I own nothing. Yay for Benny and proper Collins introductions in this chapter.**

* * *

Chapter 7

I was in my tiny dorm room, sitting on my even tinier bed, thinking about the approaching summer. I had decided firmly, that I was not going home. I told my mother I was taking summer classes so I could try and graduate early, that was a lie, but it looked like it might come true. I had another option, but I needed a car, so it would involve asking my roommate, Benjamin Coffin III for a lift, or scraping together enough cash to take the train, and I was broke. My other option was going up to New York City to spend the summer with Roger.

At that moment Benny walked through the door, "Hey, Mark, any summer plans?" he asked, as I stared at him, surprised.

"I was just thinking about that, actually," I said, "Thinking of visiting my friend Roger in NYC, but I have no mode of transportation."

"I love New York," Benny said, grinning and I looked at him again. Benny was not what you would expect a Brown business major to be, and what his name suggested he was. He was from a wealthy African American family, who owned businesses all over North America. But, Benjamin Coffin III, preferably called Benny, who was tall, had a shaved head, and was always clean shaven, had a secret deep love of the arts. All in all, he turned out to be a good friend, saying that when we graduated, he was going to open an Arts studio, where I could produce films. "Would I be welcome on this trip?" he continued.

"Well," I grinned, "Can you drive me?"

"Hmmm...." Benny said, pretending to be thoughtful, "I think that can be arranged, when do you want to leave? And do we need a hotel?"

I shuddered at the thought of the price of a New York hotel, "No, we can stay with my friend Roger, he shares a loft with some people in New York, I have to warn you though, it's in the Lower East Side."

"Well, what's a college adventure without one crazy road trip, staying in a strangers apartment?" Benny asked admirably.

"Roger's not a stranger, we've been best friends since high school."

"You don't think he's changed at all, in a year?"

"Roger? Nah, Roger will never change." I said, "But, how does leaving two days from now sound? I still have to finish cutting this film."

"Sounds good, I'll start packing."

* * *

The next night, as I was packing, there was an urgent knocking on the door. Benny looked at me and shrugged, "I'm not expecting anyone."

"Me neither," I hadn't had a visitor all year, which was okay with me. In fact, other then Benny, the person I had been in contact with the most was Roger, closely followed by mother. Roger had called about a week after school started, and told me the address and phone number of the loft, I had scribbled it down hastily and then pinned it to the wall above the phone.

I opened the door, "Maureen?"

"Mark, Mark," she said, running her hands through her hair, "I don't know what to do."

I studied her quickly, Maureen was not at her finest, her curly hair was a tangled mess, her clothes were wrinkled looking, like she had slept in them, and her makeup, eyeliner and mascara was dripping down her face, her big brown eyes were red rimmed, and as I looked at her they filled with tears. "Maureen, what's wrong?"

"I just... I didn't know where else to go," she hiccoughed, "I didn't known what to do, I had to... it wasn't..."

Unexpectedly, she threw herself at me, wrapping her arms around my neck and muttering incoherently on my shoulder. Benny looked at me over Maureen's head, and I just stared back. I decided I needed a full story. "Maureen, you have to calm down," and I carefully wrap my arms around her and rub her back, slowly her sobs subside, I lead her over to my bed, and sit her down, then grab the chair that's in front of my tiny desk, and sit across from her, I see Benny slip quietly out the door, instead of hovering awkwardly in the background.

"What happened?" I asked.

"I was expelled," Maureen said, once she had taken several long breaths and calmed down a little, "I was expelled for inappropriate behaviour."

"Inappropriate behaviour?" I questioned.

"Yes," Maureen sighed, "My parents are going to kill me, they didn't even want me to go to that theatre school in the first place... and now I've been expelled, all because I punched Melanie Bridges and she ended up with a concussion, it's not my fault she fell off the stage."

"You punched a girl and they fell of the stage?" I struggled to keep a straight face.

"No," Maureen corrected, "I punched a bitch and she fell of the stage, she was teasing this kid who was clearly sick and I just hated her, plus she made fun of vegetarians all the time, saying how vegetarians were all gay because they didn't like meat... that sort of stuff, she had it coming."

"Sounds like it," I said, disgusted at the tale of this girl.

"What are my parents going to say, Mark?" Maureen said again, tears threatening to spill once more, "I mean, I couldn't even go home. Last night I stayed at the train station trying to think of where to go, here was the only place... see at theatre school I didn't really have friends, just boys who wanted to sleep with me... because, well, I'm pretty.... but it wasn't..."

I was scared, she looked like she was going to cry again and I didn't want that. Girls crying equals me, not knowing what to do, so quickly I said, "Listen Maureen, I have an idea, it sounds like you need a vacation, and we, my roommate and I, were headed up to New York City. You should come with us, then... when we get back you can call your parents and let them know what happened and why."

She sniffled then nodded, "Actually, that sounds, pretty good. You sure your roommate won't mind?"

I shook my head, "Benny will be fine with it."

Maureen smiled then, and stood, "Um, where's the washroom? I think I'll clean myself up."

I pointed the tiny washroom out, and watched as Maureen walked away.

* * *

I was in the back seat of the car, Maureen insisted on riding shot gun, but that was okay with me. I was excited, we were headed to New York, and for the first time in over a year, I was going to see Roger, my best friend.

"You sure Roger won't mind me coming?" Benny shouted over the highway noise.

"No," I said, "He'll mind Maureen being there more, I mean... he still hasn't forgiven her for their first meeting, though he does seem to tolerate her more now."

"I still can't believe he's not over the bleaching-hair incident," Maureen said, turning to look at me.

"Well, Roger's stubborn like that," I said, grinning at the memories of him, and suddenly it occurred to me, just how much I missed him. "How much longer until we're there?"

* * *

I had called Roger and left a message on their machine, stating the date of my arrival. But I wasn't actually sure if anyone would be home. Thankfully, a week before I had confirmed my plans with Benny, Roger had told me that all I had to do was call from the phone booth below the loft and say, "Hey, throw down the keys," and if anyone was home they would come out onto the fire escape and chuck a set of keys at me.

I stood in front of this phone booth now, hands shaking with excitement as fingers pushed the numbers. The machine picked up of course, and names were listed, then, there was a beep, "Hey. Um, Roger, it's me, Mark, or anyone else I guess... well, I'm standing outside, so could you throw down the keys?"

I walked out of the booth and looked above me, from there looked up to the top floor of the building, smiling when I saw a man, I vaguely recognized waving a set of keys. It wasn't Roger, but Collins, and I realized that even though I had only met Collins once before I was glad to see him. Collins, who was a tall African American man, with broad shoulders and a brilliant smile, dropped the keys, and I tried to catch them and failed. I heard the delightful sound of Maureen's laughter as I bent to retrieve the keys from the ground.

I hurriedly raced to the entrance door, Maureen close on my heels as always and Benny trailing slightly behind her. I looked at the many flights of stairs, and started climbing. When I reached the top floor, there was a huge metal sliding door, and a padlock, I unlocked the lock, and then pushed the door open with a little help from Benny.

"Hey, Mark, you've grown boy!" Collins greeted happily, his smile lighting up the sort-of dingy loft, "And multiplied, I thought it was just you coming."

"Oh, right, I hope you don't mind Collins, I brought some friends with me," I said, waving a hand in the general directions of Maureen and Benny, who hovered awkwardly in the background.

"Nah, of course not," Collins said, "The more the merrier."

Maureen, unable to stay silent any longer, skipped to my side, stuck out her hand and said, "Maureen Johnson, actress, or soon-to-be-actress anyway."

"I like this girl," Collins said, same smile still stretched across his face, "Thomas Collins, yes like the drink Tom Collins, get it out of your system, and then just call me Collins – philosopher, and professor at the moment."

I nudged Benny, and he said, "I'm Benny, Mark's roommate... business major."

Collins grinned, "Welcome, one and all, to the place that we, that's Roger and I, affectionately call the loft. Roger's out right now, went to see if he had enough cash to scrape us some alcohol, but he'll be back soon, never seen that boy so excited."

"Roger was excited?" I asked, disbelief colouring my face.

"Yup, he played back your message, and he nearly jumped for joy, started singing about... a car and his guitar, and New York City..."

I grinned, and decided to take a seat on the worn, duct-taped covered couch, "He wrote that before we left Scarsdale."

"So, you'll have embarrassing stories to tell about Roger?" Collins asked, sitting in the armchair near the couch.

"A few." I replied.

Benny sat down in the arm chair across from Collins, and Maureen sat down beside me, causing my heart to race. "I wanna hear these stories." Maureen pouted, "Otherwise, I'll only have one to tease him about."

"I'd like to hear more about Roger," Benny said, "All Mark ever really said was that they were best friends in high school."

"We're still best friends!" I protested.

"How do you know? You haven't seen him in a year." Maureen pointed out.

"Roger's too stubborn to ever change." I explained.

* * *

Roger stumbled into the loft because in one hand he clutched a brown paper bag, that clinks as the bottles inside hit each other gently and in the other there was Chinese take out. "I'm broke now!" Roger announced, looking directly at me "Thanks to you."

I stood, as he placed the things on the kitchenette's counter, "Nice to see you to Roger," and we met in the middle and hugged quickly, "How have you been?"

"Pretty good, got together a band, well, they sort of grabbed me into their band, the Well-Hungarians," Roger informed me.

"Really? The Well-Hungarians? That's awful!" I said astounded.

"I think it's hilarious!" Maureen chimed in, she had fallen asleep on the couch about a half-hour before, and Benny and Collins had become engrossed in a conversation I just couldn't follow, so I was startled that Maureen would comment. Roger was startled that she was there.

"What is she doing here?" Roger asked genuinely shocked, "and who the hell is that?" he asked pointing to Benny.

"One question at a time Davis," Collins said wisely, "The boy doesn't know how to answer you," and then to my complete surprise, Collins pulled a joint from the pockets of the long overcoat he wore, and lit up.

Roger rolled his eyes, and looked expectantly at me, "Maureen's here because she got kicked out of school and had nowhere else to go, and that is my roommate Benny, both of who have seemed to hit it off with Collins."

"Collins man," Roger shook his head sadly, "I can't believe you like the over dramatic girl, I always thought you batted for the other team."

Collins offered the joint to both Benny, who shook his head and politely declined and Maureen, who took a drag and then hands it back, like it was nothing. "I do bat for the other team," Collins told us all.

"And we care why?" Maureen voiced my opinion.

Collins looked at her, then laughed a great bellowing laugh, that was so contagious we all joined in, though nothing was really funny about the conversation, especially as we barely knew each other, "So, Roger, we going to get to eat and get drunk anytime soon?" Collins asked.

* * *

The food and alcohol was long since gone, and Roger and I were alone, well, not alone but the only two who remained conscious. Collins had been the last one standing, and he had stumbled off to his room about ten minutes ago. Benny had collapsed from exhaustion and alcohol consumption about an hour before, and no one had dared to wake him from his odd position on the arm chair. Maureen had yawned and curled up like a cat half-an hour ago, and now her soft even breathing could be heard.

"So, what do you think of this place, Mark?" Roger asked me, serious for the first time this night.

"I think it's a dump," I snorted, I was light-headed from the amount of alcohol I had consumed.

"It is a dump," Roger agreed.

"Wait, I wasn't done yet." I complained.

"'I think it's a dump' is a complete sentence Marky," Roger said.

"Still not done," I said, and Roger waited this time, "I think it's a dump... but oddly enough it's a comforting feeling, it's a dump that feels an awful lot like home."

Roger looked at me and smirked, "Welcome home, Marky."

* * *

**A/N: I'd like to take this time to remind you that this is a purely a friendship fic, but that does not mean that we cannot aw at fluffy friendship moments, R&R please.**


	8. The Most Beautiful Smile

**A/N: So, this is where the fic really starts to get dark (because it was all fluff and rainbows before), in this chapter we meet April and everyone knows how that turns out, though I'm going to do something I've never seen before in the fanfiction world (and you don't get to find out yet). And also, it's the first time Mark ever sees Roger high on heroin... it only gets worse from here on in.**

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**Chapter 8**

I was tired from a long day of job searching, but my screenplay wasn't quite right yet, and the early morning hours were always when inspiration seemed to hit. So, I sat on the ratty couch, the notebook opened on my lap, and my pen clutched a bit too loosely in my hand. I was stumped, honestly, stumped. I couldn't think of anything that I wanted to write about, no new direction to take the story in.

I was surprised that I wasn't the only one awake. There was someone else awake, in fact, he was just walking into the loft when I went to go see if we had any milk left in the fridge. "Hey, Roger," I greeted, he had just finished a gig.

Roger looked at me, skinned flushed and grinning like a madman. "Hey kiddo!" he greeted. "I met this great girl!"

Roger was high, I was naive but I wasn't a complete idiot. I didn't know what he was high on, but I could tell he was high, this time it seemed no more then Collins and his relaxed after-pot state. I decided to let it go, and to humour Roger, "Really? What's her name?"

"April," Roger sighed blissfully, "She's got... the most beautiful smile." Roger moved slowly and sluggishly across the loft to join me on the couch, where he sat cross-legged, and scratching absentmindedly at his arm.

I thought of Maureen's laughter and how it made me feel, and suddenly understood why Roger's voice was filled with fascination and admiration. "Good for you, good for you."

* * *

I had watched Roger come down from his high, he seemed to have long periods of wakefulness where he would pace, jog and run around the loft, easily hurdling the couch, preceded and followed by times where he would curl up in the armchair, and sleep. A sleep so deeply that even Collin's booming voice would not have woke him, I found myself up that entire night, because every time Roger's chest rose and fell a little too slowly, I would shoot up and lean in close to him, to make sure the breath sounds were still there.

It had never bothered me before that Collins, Maureen, and sometimes Roger smoked pot, but this strange new drug both confused and upset me. The affects had seemed stronger, but I decided this one time, was not a problem, besides, Roger seemed happy.

The next morning, I told Collins about it. Roger had stumbled off to his room, finally, and would be almost comatose until six in the evening. Collins had walked into the living-kitchen area yawning hugely and setting out to find some non-existent food.

"Morning Marky," Collins said, he had picked up the irritating nickname quite quickly.

"Morning Tom," I retorted.

Collins brow crinkled and he frowned, "How about we start over?" he could clearly see that I was not in a good mood, as most of the time I just ignored the name Marky. I nodded in agreement, "Good morning, Mark," Collins said, with a slight smile.

"Morning Collins," I replied, "Though good might be the wrong word for it."

"Why? It's seven am, what could possibly have gone wrong in the 2 minutes you've been up?"

"I haven't gone to bed yet." I told Collins. When he poised to ask the question why, everything just tumbled out, how I was scared and confused because I didn't know what it was, and whether or not the things Roger was doing were the norm.

"Well, I can clear up some stuff for you," Collins said, "Roger is recreational heroin user, the high you described comes just moments after ingesting the drug, and the sleeping, awake, sleeping pattern is called 'on the nod', so Roger is definitely displaying the normal symptoms."

I stared stunned at Collins for a few minutes, "Really? Roger uses heroin?"

"As far as I know, only once or twice a month, but this isn't the first time he's come home high." Collins stated.

"Well, if it is just fun then... I'll forget about it, this time," I said. This time wasn't the problem.

* * *

Roger stepped out of his room, fully dressed at 6:30pm, "Mark, we got any food?" he called.

I had been in the kitchen, looking for some sort of food, and replied, from underneath the counter, "Um, nothing yet."

"Whoa, Mark, where are you?" Roger asked.

"Underneath the counter," I replied, as I stood.

"Oh, that explains the disembodied voices," Roger grinned at me, "Check the top shelf of the cupboard, it is where Collins thinks he hides things from me."

I opened the one of the cupboards above the counter, and shouted (perhaps a little too loudly), "Success, a full box of saltine crackers..." I reached up to grab them, but found them just slightly out of my reach.

Roger who was a few inches taller then me, could have come over and helped, but watching me struggle was far more amusing to him. "No wonder Collins hides things on the top shelf," I muttered.

Roger laughed and gently shoved me out of the way, before (finally) grabbing the only source of nourishment in the loft. He opened the box and took a sleeve out before putting the box back on the top shelf. Then, Roger walked away. "Roger!" I cried, then unable to think of anything else a childish phrase came out of my mouth, "Finder's keepers!"

"How about he who actually has the food decides to who gets the food?" Roger smiled. I walked up to him, and reached for the sleeve of crackers, which he held tauntingly above my head. "Oh, I have a question for you, Marky."

"I'm not answering until I get some food," I complained bitterly, "I'm starving."

"Me too," Roger said, ripping open the sleeve of crackers and piling some on the metal table, "Here, we can split these, I'll save the rest." And he threw the crackers back into the cupboard, though I noticed he placed them on the lower shelf.

It was as if the previous night hadn't even happened. This was what I knew, it was familiar, and so Roger and I sat across from each other, splitting the crackers between us. "So, what's the question?"

"Oh, right," Roger said, "You want to come to my show tonight?"

"Sure," I said without a second thought, "I'll bring my camera and film, maybe I can sell the footage and get some fucking money."

"I'm sure that won't be a problem..." Roger hesitated, Roger never hesitated. There was something else, something Roger either didn't want to tell me, or even unlikelier Roger was nervous about telling me.

"What is it, Rog?" I asked quietly, lightly urging him to tell me.

"April is going to be there." He told me, and I laughed, "It's not funny," he protested.

It was funny, "Roger, you've never been nervous about dating a girl before... why now?" I asked, still laughing.

"Because this one is different Marky," Roger had replied in a tone that I was unfamiliar with, it was filled with adoration, "She's just... I don't know, fuck, I sound stupid don't I?"

"No you don't." I had assured him.

* * *

The club was dark and dingy and I doubted that my ancient camera could pick up anything except the haze of smoke that drifted around the club, concealing everyone's feet. I sat at the chestnut coloured bar, and faced the stage. The stage was not large, nor was it well-lit, but it had a decent set of speakers, a decent amp, and a decent microphone. The band was not due on for hours, but I had left for hours.

Someone cleared their throat and I looked in the direction of the noise. It was the bar tender, who was tall, skinny, balding and very grumpy looking stared back, "I asked you if you wanted something kid." He said.

I silently counted the bills in my pocket... not too many, three or four, five maybe if I checked the other pockets. "Um...a beer, I guess. Whatever is on tap."

The bar tender flung a dirty rag over his shoulder, and muttered something about, "Cheap kids," before going to get my drink. I rolled my eyes as a beer was slid in my direction, haphazardly.

I looked at the people around me on the stools. The two on either side of me were empty, and I snorted in disbelief, did I honestly repel people? But two stools to my left, there's a middle-aged man, and the best word to describe him is thick. Thick, not as in stupid, but as in he had a thick mass of ginger curls, and his arms and shoulders and neck were thick, to top it all off, there was the pair of thick round glasses sitting on the end of his nose. I pushed my glasses up, and hope I never look like that man, who had at least three or four beers in front of him.

To my right, where the bar curved, so your back would be facing the stage, there was a young, a very young man. He looked no older than me, and seemed both pleased and scared. On his lap was a slightly older looking woman, with false eyelashes, and violent looking nails. I watched as she trailed a lethal-lengthened cuticle from the boy's forehead and down his cheek to his chin.

"Hey Mark," a stranger said, as she sat down on the bar stool beside me. Well, I thought, on one hand, at least I don't smell, on the other, who the hell is she?

"Um...do I know you?" I ask, deciding to take a better look at this girl, to see if I can place her. She's tiny, really tiny, smaller then me, shorter and slimmer, but she has this sort of presence about her, and I feel like I already know her. Her bright red hair was cut short and framed her face, she had hazel eyes and long dark eyelashes, and perfect bow-shaped lips. Then, she smiled at me, and it was even more radiant then Collins' smile, it seemed to light up not only her face, but the entirety of the bar. "Oh, you must be April," I said, "Nice to meet you,"

"Wow, Roger told me you were observant, but I didn't expect an answer that quickly," she tugged at her long-sleeved shirt, almost nervously, and threw me another, this time a nervous, smile.

"Yeah, well, Roger and I have known each other for a long time," I said, "In fact, he asked me to film his show tonight," I didn't mention to April that I wanted to catch her gorgeous smile on film as well, I figured once Roger was on stage, I could just film her in the moment. People always looked their best when they weren't scanning every movement the camera makes.

* * *

The lights on the stage came up, and the band cast long shadows in the stage-show lighting effects, the sound-system was slightly crackly, but not so that you couldn't hear what was going on. I even found myself truly relaxed for the first time that night as Roger's familiar low voice drifted into the crowded room.

Girls pushed eagerly to the front of the stage, and Roger gave them his trade-marked smirk, and closed his eyes and sang. Still girls swarmed to get close to Roger, it seemed as if every girl in the club, single or otherwise, was drawn to him. Except for the one sitting beside me.

"Doesn't it bother you?" I asked April, who has been staring at Roger from a distance.

"Doesn't what bother me?" April asked, half-listening, half-gazing at Roger with her intense smile playing across her face.

"Those girl, all shoving and queueing, and..." I looked and saw to my amazement, "Pulling each others hair to get close to your boyfriend."

"Not at all," April said happily, "Because at the end of the night, it's me he walks home and kisses good night."

Roger started a new song then, and I lifted the camera once again, first pointing it at the crowd, then at the band – close up on Roger, and then slowly I turned the camera to April, and captured what I imagined to be one of the happiest moments of her life. The expression she wore was so full of love, and her captivating smile and it was just perfect. It wasn't long before these perfect moments started to disappear.

* * *

**A/N: A little shorter then the last two chapters, but I initially wanted to end this after the Roger and Mark crackers scene but that just seemed a bit too short. So, I introduced Mark to April. Yay for introductions! R&R!**


	9. Truth or Dare

**A/N: I would just like to warn everyone that this chapter is T+ because of drugs, alcohol, and sexual material. I'm sorry I haven't updated in a horrofic amount of time. But Grade 12 sucks, and I spent most of my Christmas break at work. So, I do apologize profusely, remind you again of the content, tell you I don't own Rent, and never will, and hope you enjoy this chapter (even if it's slightly short).**

* * *

The bottle of cheap alcohol was passed around. I didn't even remember what it was... vodka, bourbon... did we have wine? It didn't matter. What mattered was that bottle being passed around, when was it my turn again? Oh... now.

God, I'm a lightweight, my visions already swimming, and this is only the first bottle... and were sharing. Yet, I'm feeling that warm fuzzy feeling that being drunk makes me. I'm a happy drunk, or at least that's what Collins told me, I never remember the next morning. I did feel a lazy grin on my face.

Am I the only one drunk? I mean everyone's here. Collins is home, and it's the Sunday of a long-weekend so he has the day off tomorrow. He's going to spend it nursing a hangover. Oh, look, he's lit a joint... he offers it to me, I shake my head, I still can't handle pot.

Maureen's here. Why? I don't know, she seems to come and leave whenever she pleases. I'm just glad she's here. It's the early hours of the morning and even through my drunken haze I'm astounded by how beautiful and strong she looks. Where she's sitting the light from the one lamp we have turned on is making her hair shine, she's got this sort of ghostly glow about her. My heart skipped a few beats, I turn to look at the others.

Roger, cross-legged on the floor. Head tipped back, staring up at the ceiling, spiked hair falling and nearly black at the roots now. It's time for a dye job Roger. A little stubble on his jaw and chin. His arms are circled loosely around April's waist. He almost looks like he's asleep, but every two minutes or so he adds something to whatever conversation were having.

April in his lap, with her long legs stretched out in front of her. Her short red hair looking almost like blood in this dark room. Her hands rested lightly on top of Roger's. She accepted the joint with a flash of her dazzling smile and a wink.

Even Benny. I could hardly believe it, Benny had graduated early and come to live with us. Said he was going to make this a better place, said he was going to save the homeless people here in Alphabet City, then in New York City then all of America and then the whole damn world and he would use his business to do it. Benny smiled at me, he was sitting on my left, he passed me the bottle again... was this still the first bottle? It couldn't be.

The light keeps fading. I'm having trouble keeping my eyes open, but I have to, people are having fun without me. Laughter, I hear laughter, lots of it. What's so funny? I lost track of the conversation about half a bottle ago.

"Mark's gonna pass out." Maureen announces loudly. That seems to shake me awake.

"No, I'm not." I said sloppily, how much am I slurring? "It's just that this conversation no longer interests me." That's because I have no fucking clue what this conversation even is.

"I know!" Maureen squeals. "Let's play truth or dare!"

No. No. Please no, I am in no condition to play this game.

"Sure why not?" Benny said.

"Are we fourteen?" was Roger's muffled complaint.

"I'd really rather not." April said, obviously taking Roger's side.

"What does Collins have to say about it Mark?" Maureen asked, Collins was on my right. I glance at him, and see his eyes are closed, joint out, but still clasped lightly in his hand. How such a large man can issue such a tiny snore is beyond me.

"I think that Collins is unable to vote as he is unconscious," I replied.

"Then that leaves it up to you Mark," Roger said as he looked at me with a look that said if you agree with Maureen I will kill you when I have the energy.

I don't want to play. I really don't. I'm sprawled out on the couch and I attempt to right myself so that a proper answer can come out of my mouth. I don't want to play. Roger doesn't want to. April doesn't either. Only Maureen really. Benny could live without the game. Oh, Maureen's here now, sitting in between me and Collins. She's talking... what is she saying?

"...with sugar on top? And a cherry too! Pretty pretty please say yes Marky!" The annoying nickname had never sounded more beautiful. No, I don't want to play.

"Let's play." I said. What? I don't want to play.

Roger glared. I am going to be in so much trouble. I don't even want to play. "Oh! Thank you Marky!" Maureen exclaims and kissed my cheek, light as a butterfly. I flushed from my forehead to the tips of my toes, "So, who's going first?" Maureen asked.

"It was your idea, you go first," April said, "I guess it won't be too bad."

"You don't know Maureen that well." I managed to say.

"Alright, I'll go first..." Maureen agreed, "Hmmm... who to pick? Who to pick? How about... Roger! Truth or dare?"

"I'll kill you for this Mark." Roger growled, "Dare."

"I dare you to... run around the outside of this building... stark naked," Maureen grinned.

I clapped my hand over my mouth to stifle the laughter at the thought of Roger running around outside naked.

Roger took his shirt off, then said, "Hey, stop looking!" to everyone, except April. He ran down the stairs, quick as a flash, and then we all crowded around the fire escape, and looked at him run around the building. "He's going to kill me tonight..." I muttered, as everyone else laughed hysterically.

When Roger returned he dressed quickly, sat down and pulled April onto his lap. "Okay, truth or dare... Mark."

I had known this was coming. Payback's a bitch. Now let's see, it's Roger, so he dare me to do something absolutely mortifying. Or horrific. Who knows? But Roger also knows more then anyone else about me, and he know about Maureen, said he could see it on my face every time someone mentioned her name... truth... or dare. "Truth..." I said hesitating.

"In this room, who is the person that you would most like to fuck?"

I groaned, the answer was Maureen, no doubt about it. Roger is terrible. "Well, let's see... you'd be the last on my list Roger, least likely to be fucked... too much going on there. Benny was my roommate in college and it would be just too weird... Collins might enjoy it, though I would most definitely not... and... you, Roger, would kill me if I even so much of thought as April in that way, so, Maureen."

Maureen flashed me a sultry grin. Roger whispered, "Nice cover." I was feeling a bit more daring now, so I said, "April, truth or dare?"

"Why... hmm... let's go with truth."

"Okay... what was your first impression of Roger?"

"I thought he was going to be just like every other band member I've met, cocky, arrogant, and rude."

"So basically, you were spot on," I joked, and Roger punched me in the shoulder, a little to hard to be considered playful.

"No! I wasn't, I was completely wrong," April laughed, "Roger's actually sweet, and kind... and loves me for who I am."

"Of course I do babe," Roger kissed her passionately, and we all looked away politely until Maureen said, "Ahem!" quite loudly.

"Oh, right, Maureen, truth or dare?" April asked, she and Maureen had clicked almost right away, both outgoing, spontaneous and beautiful.

"Dare," Maureen said boldly.

"I dare you to give Mark a lap dance,"

"Okay!" Maureen stood and walked over to me, I was already red from my forehead to my toes. God, Maureen looked so sexy when she walked. Actually she looked sexy doing everything. Maureen winked at me and then started to dance, and I had to hold my hands clenched at the side, to not reach out and touch her. Then she sat on my lap, first with her back to me, the spinning around to straddle me, and I bit my lip to keep from moaning. Maureen grabbed my wrists, and placed my hands on her waist, grinding into me. I short gasp escaped my mouth. My fingers instinctively travelled up her sides, and then, she stood up and walked away, swinging her hips. "Benjamin, truth or dare?" she asked as if nothing had happened.

I unfortunately could not do the same as Maureen had caused me to become uncomfortable, as Benny answered Maureen, I hobbled off to the bathroom.

* * *

I walked into the living room, and was blinded by the light streaming through the "sunroof". Why is it always ridiculously sunny when you have a hangover? Roger and April were passed out on the floor, arms wrapped around each other. I lifted a blanket from the back of the couch and threw it over them, careful not to trip. Collins was nowhere to be seen, but then the loud flush of our toilet, told me he would be spending the morning in the bathroom.

I wondered where Benny and Maureen were. I had a moment of horror, imagining that they had gotten together, then Maureen bounced into the room, all smiles. Where the hell had she slept? I wondered. "Good Morning, Marky!" She said in a voice that was much to loud.

I groaned against the pounding of my head, and managed a "Morning, Maureen." and a grimace.

"Oh, someone's hungover!" Maureen exclaimed, clapping her hands together.

"No shit," I muttered, "Now, where do we keep the coffee?"

"In the cupboard above the sink," Maureen said, matter-of-factly, "But, you know what's better for curing hangovers?"

"No, what Maureen?" I asked, half-listening, mostly focused on the coffee tin.

"Sex!" She exclaimed cheerfully.

"Maureen, you think sex is good for everything." I told her, flushing.

"Last night you told me, you would have sex with me." Maureen said, smiling all to brightly.

I froze, my hand poised above the coffee tin, which was now on the counter. What had I said last night? I remembered nothing. Maybe... had I told Maureen about my feelings. Suddenly, it all came tumbling out, "Yes, Maureen, I would love to have sex with you. But not just sex. I think your beautiful, and funny, and kind and caring, and sexy. I would love to hold your hand, stroke your hair, kiss you, and talk to you, I'd love for you to be my girlfriend." I said this, still with my back turned to Maureen.

I realized what I had said, and turned slowly, and Maureen was right there. She had a smile of on her face still, but this one was different. It was a soft and gentle smile, and her cheeks were a delightful pink, her chocolate eyes locked on mine, and she placed left hand on my right cheek, "Mark, I would love to be your girlfriend," then she leaned forward, and I mimicked her, my hands wrapped around her waist as we kissed, her right hand lay on my chest.

The coffee sat forgotten.


	10. Important Information

A.N: So, this is totally awesome because I haven't updated in like a hundred years. I wonder if anyone still reads this… but I have no intention of giving this story up until I finish it. That means at least four more chapters I should think. I hope people are still enjoying and reading this story and my apologies for the extreme lateness.

* * *

"Good Morning, Marky!" Maureen said cheerfully as she bounced into my – excuse me, Maureen has been living with us for about 3 months now - our room.

I groaned and yawned, "Mo, what time is it?" I asked exhausted.

"7:05 am," she replied, happily.

"That is way too early to be out of bed, Maureen," I complained.

"You're not out of bed, silly!" Maureen said, as she climbed under the covers with me, curling up and resting her head on my chest. "Now, I'm in bed, with you."

"And now it's a good morning," I smiled, leaning forward to kiss her. "I love you," and as the words left my lips I realized that it was the first time I've said it in the six months that we've been dating; though certainly not the first time I've thought it.

Maureen's eyes widened and then her face broke into the widest most beautiful grin, I had ever seen, "Oh, Marky! I love you too!" We kissed again, my hands running through her hair, hers wrapped around my neck.

* * *

A few hours later, I left my room, closing the door softly, so I wouldn't wake Maureen, who had fallen asleep in my arms. I was all smiles, as I glanced at the clock and then around the loft. Collins would be out looking for a job by now, and Benny had become an intern at a big business man's building…but Roger… well, Roger and April should be getting up right about now.

Actually, now that I think about it, I don't remember either of them coming home last night… or for the past few nights as a matter of fact. I rack my brain trying to remember the last time Roger and I had had a conversation. It had seemed like ages, in fact, the last few times I remember him coming home, he had been high… and I was starting to get worried.

It wasn't like before. Roger was almost always high now, and April was always high with him. I wondered if there was a big problem, but it was Roger. Roger had always been capable of taking care of himself; in fact, I didn't need to look out for Roger. Rather, I usually needed him to look out for me.

Just as I made myself a cup of tea and sat down on the couch, Roger walked out. He didn't greet me, just walked out onto the fire escape and lit a cigarette. "Well, good morning to you too, Roger. How're you? I'm fine. Thanks for asking." I muttered to myself, looking in his direction.

April stumbled out of Roger's room moments later; she at least threw me a small smile and a wave before joining Roger on the fire escape. I watched as the two kissed, passionately. I wished I had had my camera prepped for that moment. But it wasn't that big of a deal, I was sure there would be more passionate kisses for my camera to catch between the two.

Oh, how wrong I was.

"Marky, boy, nice to see you, without Mo attached to your lips," Collins greeted me, where he found me in the same position, about half an hour later.

"Shut up!" I muttered flushing, "Hey, Collins. What's up?"

"Nothing new, we're still hungry, broke and jobless," Collins informed as he sat down beside me.

"So, things are good then?" I joked.

"As long as we have each other, things are good," Collins mused, and then we settled into a silence that should've been comfortable, but I felt like something was truly wrong. It shifted around a little, finishing my tea, which had long since become cold and placing the mug on the broken coffee table in front of me.

"Mark… I have something important I need to tell you. Something I need to tell everyone." His deep voice cracked into a higher pitch.

"Oh, God, Collins, what's wrong?" I asked immediately concerned for the big man who now looked so small.

Collins took a deep breath and shut his eyes, "I can't tell you now, I just can't. I don't want to repeat this story a hundred times, see if you can get everyone together tonight, for dinner, at the Life… it's my treat."

"But Collins, I thought you said we were broke," I stated, "I'm sure you don't need to do this…"

"Mark, I've been putting what little money I have away since the first doct- since I first suspected something was wrong. I need to do this, but I need you to do a big favor for me. " Collins pleaded, " Please."

The sadness in Collins voice broke my heart, word by word, "Of course, anything, Collins, anything."

"I want it to be your responsibility to get everyone to the Life Café tonight – that means, Benny, Maureen, AND April and Roger. No one can be left out. Understand?" And with that Collins stood and headed towards the door of his and Benny's room.

"I'll do my best, Thomas." I said, feeling the need for the first name.

I knew things were serious when Collins didn't berate me for using his first name.

* * *

The first thing I did was call Benny at work. I didn't know when he was supposed to be home, but I knew that this was an emergency. I glanced at the number he had scribbled hastily onto the pad that sits beside the phone. I dialed the number and hoped that it would be Benny who answered and not someone else.

The phone rang a few times before a familiar voice said, "Benny speaking, how may I help you?"

"Relax, Benny, it's Mark," I said, "I have some important news."

"Really? What's going on?" Benny asked.

"That's the thing, I don't really know, Collins asked us all together tonight at the Life Café, what's the earliest you can make it?" I asked, biting my lip.

"If I tell my boss, Mr. Gray, it's an emergency; I should be able to get to the Life… by 7." Benny answered.

"It is an emergency Benny," I said sadly, "See you tonight."

* * *

I walked back into mine and Maureen's room, since it was a better option than facing April and Roger who were still on the fire escape. I knelt down in front of Maureen, who was lying on her side, her curls tumbling across the pillow and her face, her mouth slightly ajar.

I tucked a few loose curls back behind her ear, and kissed her forehead, "Wake up Mo," I said quietly.

Maureen's eyes opened, "Hi pookie," she smiled at me, then asked, "Wait, what's wrong?" she rubbed her eyes tiredly.

I took her hand in my mine, "Okay, how do you always know?"

"Oh, pookie, it's written all over your face," Maureen said, "So tell me what's going on."

"Collins wants all of us at the Life tonight, apparently, there's some very very important information,he needs to tell us…" I said, gloom resonating from my body.

"Then, we'll be there for him," Maureen said, "No matter what, baby."

* * *

I sighed as I walked back into the living space – Maureen right behind me. "I'll tackle April," she volunteered.

"And that leaves me with Roger," I state, "Thanks, Mo, I really appreciate this."

We both stood silently watching the couple, who still stood together on the fire escape, "Ladies first?" I offered.

"That must mean you then," Maureen teased, as we both procrastinated doing the unavoidable.

* * *

Maureen dragged April by the hand down the ladder of the fire escape, and I watched as Roger put out another cigarette and dragged his sorry ass inside.

"What's up?" Roger asked nonchalantly.

"Rog- you might want to sit down for this," I told him, "It's really important."

Roger snorted, "Whatever," and he flopped down on the couch as I stood in front of him.

"Roger, listen carefully, I cannot stress to you how important this is, Collins wants us ALL together at the Life tonight, he has something really serious to say." I explained.

"I will try to be there, if I can, I kind of already have plans…" Roger trailed off.

"Fuck, Roger, really? Collins is our best friend, is getting high really more important than anything he has to say?"

Roger snorted again, "Yeah, whatever, it's probably just to meet his latest fling, the new "one""

I fumed, then I did the unbelievable, I drew back my arm and punched Roger square in the jaw. His eyes widened and he raised his hand to touch the spot where I had hit him, other than that, I was pretty sure I hurt more than he did.

"Fuck you Roger. I can't believe what you've turned into," I whisper viciously as Roger stared at me in shock, "You used to be the guy who would do anything for his friends, and now, god damn, now you can't even have a serious conversation. You have a fuckin' problem man. Get over yourself." And I walked away, back to my room, where I hoped that Roger wouldn't have one of his mood swings and I would be safe.

* * *

"7pm Eastern Standard Time, waiting for Collins at the Life Cafe" I paused to crank the camera again, cursing as my newly bangaged hand got caught for a moment on the crank. "Pan across the table for four instead of six, Roger and April are nowhere to be found, and Collins is sure to tell us something important."

"Mark, would you put that thing away?" Benny complained, as he shifted nervously in his seat.

"I can't help it, Benny, I'm concerned,"

"We're all concerned pookie," Maureen said, "But you need to put that camera down and sit with us, okay, baby?"

"Okay, Mo," I answered as I take my seat beside her and wrap an arm around her shoulders.

Collins entered then, his face stoic but grave. "Let's eat first," he decided, and we all placed our orders and ate in the melancholy atmosphere that surrounded us.

As we all picked at our plates, I finally decided the tension had to be resolved, "Collins, tell us what the hell is going on."

Maureen and Benny nodded in agreement. Collins stood, "So today, I found out some bad news," he paused, "Really bad news."

"What is it Collins?" Maureen asked, fretful about the man she had grown very close to.

Collins sighed, "Well, do you guys remember, Jerry?"

We all murmured our acknowledgement. "Well, I got a call from him a few weeks ago, turns out he's HIv+… and now I am too."

Silence radiated about us as we all tried to process the shock. Benny stood to shake Collins hand and Collins pulled him into a hug. Maureen made a small noise, and I turned to see tears streaming down her face. I stand up and drew her into my arms, her tears soaking into my scarf and shirt.

"Collins," I spoke first, "We're all going to be here for you, in whatever way you need us to be. Okay?" Collins nodded and he and Benny walked over as we all hugged each other. "We're here for you." I repeated.

R&R


	11. Noteworthy

**A/N:** Okay, so this should definitely be rated T+! There is some very, very, graphic descriptions that is not for the weak stomached. As usual I don't own RENT or anything to do with it. I also changed the chapter titles to things that are quotes or parts of the chapter. I feel it adds to the story. Hope you like this update – don't worry there will be another one quite soon.

* * *

Things just got worse after Collins announcement. Collins moved out of the loft and closer to NYU, where he had secured a permanent job. Said he needed to be closer to NYU but I knew that really wasn't the reason. Would you really want to live in the same place as someone who is supposed to be your best friend would rather get high, and then be with you when it's important? Collins moved to get away from Roger. And in turn, he moved away from Benny, Maureen and I. I could hardly believe it.

It's not like things started to get better after that though. Benny was the next of us to leave. He had done the unthinkable, sold out, said he had fallen in love, said that he was going to marry his boss's daughter, Allison Gray, of the Westport Grays. I personally didn't believe he had fallen in love with her, he had fallen in love with her for money, her lifestyle, and Benny was sick of being hungry and frozen and broke. He had found a way out.

That left, me, Maureen, Roger, and April. And really, if we truly looked at it, it was Maureen and I, because Roger and April were so wrapped up in their own warped little world. Roger and April had spiraled deeper into their addiction, and though neither of them would admit it, I had admitted it, they were both addicted to heroin. My best friend, and the girl he loved, addicted.

Roger and I had barely spoken five words to each other since I punched him in the face. It's not like we haven't seen each other, we still live together, though I disapprove of his lifestyle and he knows it. We barely even manage a hello, or a see you, or I'm going out filming to each other because we're drifting apart. I'm refusing to acknowledge this, after Roger and I, who had been so close to each other throughout high school and now into our early twenties, I couldn't believe. Roger had been my protector, my confidante, my brother – in everything but blood, and now he can't even talk to me. I'm at my wits end, without Maureen, I'm pretty sure I'd go insane.

Maureen is still here. She's the light of my life; she can always cheer me up. She always has a smile on her face, or a hug and a kiss if I need it. I love her. I want to marry her, but not yet, not until I've got my feet on some steady ground. We're still paycheck to paycheck. And that's only my paycheck, Roger and his band had broken up, Maureen was fired from her last waitressing job and is looking for a new one as well as auditioning for shows. And I don't think April had ever even had a job… where were they getting the money for the smack? I wondered constantly.

Back to Maureen, she greeted me every morning with a smile on my face, as I went out to film birthday parties and other such things for rich people so we could have food on the table. She kissed me when I came home every night, tired and angry because I supporting 4 people and not living my dream. She told me it was alright to be upset and held me in her arms when I felt close to breaking down. She loved me and I loved her and I never thought that anything could change that.

And then one day, one horrible day, and one hot horrible summer day we hit rock bottom.

* * *

"June 21, the first day of summer." I pan the view from the fire escape, a beautiful sunrise over the shadowy skyline of New York City. "Today, the sun will be shining, the birds are already singing and I'll I can think is, shut the fuck up birds, and I'm going to burn if I go outside today." I sigh and lower the lens.

I'm all alone today. Maureen has gone back to visit her folks, asked if I wanted to come with her, but I'm never going back to Scarsdale, never. April isn't with Roger for a change; I don't where she went today, but whatever. Roger is getting high. I have no doubt about it, that's all Roger ever does now.

I sigh again, I'm bored. I have no work today. There's no money to spend on something, and even the beautiful day can't brighten my dark mood, as my previous narration clearly pointed out. I have nothing to do. I miss Maureen so much. Normally, a weekend with her away, would mean lots of time with Roger. But Roger isn't Roger anymore, just a zombie-like image of him. I miss Roger too, I realize with a pang in my heart, his room in 5 feet from mine, but his heart and mind are thousands of miles away.

My thoughts were interrupted by the heavy metal door being pushed open, and then someone struggling to close it. I walked over to help April shut the door. Even though she was dragging Roger down with her, she had once been my friend. "Hey, April," I greeted as we pushed the door shut together.

"Hey…" she said, sounding a bit distracted. It was then that I noticed her red hair was not in its usual style, in fact it was sticking up in all sorts of directions. Her thick black eyeliner and layers of mascara were dripping down her face, and since the weather outside was still very sunny, the tracks and black smudges were clearly from tears. Her hands appeared to be shaking and she was nervously shifting from one foot to another.

"April…" I hesitated, "Are you okay?"

April simply shook her head.

"Did you and Roger have a fight?" I asked, uncomfortably.

"No." she whispered. "… uh, Mark, can I ask you to do me a favor?"

Though I hadn't spoken to her in weeks, something about the lack of smile on her face made me want to do whatever I could to make this better, "Sure, you wanna tell me what's going on first?"

"Not now," April said, hanging her head, "Can you find Roger for me? I have something truly important to tell him."

"Um… I'll do my best." I said, picking up my camera and heading out the door.

* * *

I walked outside and turned the corner. I then turned around and doubled back in front of the door. I didn't have any idea where to look for Roger. For all I knew Roger was in some back alley shooting up. I walked up and down the sidewalk in front of the loft… 5 minutes passed… then 10… then deciding that pacing back and forth was absolutely useless, I headed in the direction of our favorite restaurant – The Life Café. Half way there, not paying attention to where I was going I walked straight into someone.

"Goddamn it, watch where you're going!" A familiar voice growled.

"Roger!" I exclaimed, "I need you to come home right now, April's upset about something and she's asking for you." I glanced up at Roger – his eyes clear, he seemed very alert. Merciful Powers That Be – if you even exist – thanks for keeping Roger sober today.

"April?" Roger asked, his forehead creasing with worry.

"Yeah, she looked like she had been crying." I answer.

"Well, then why the fuck are we standing in the middle of the road?" Roger asks, quite smartly, "Let's get home quick."

As we walk back, even though the air is thick with tension and we're both clearly worried, this is the most normal we've been with each other for days. Roger reaches out and puts his hand on my shoulder, squeezing it a little to tightly for comfort. "Mark… god, Mark… what's if it's something really serious?"

"I'm sure it will be okay."

Hindsight truly is 20/20.

* * *

We get back to the loft in what I believe is record time. Roger can't hold himself any longer, he runs up the stairs and forgets that I have the only key. He bangs on the door – ever the impatient one – calling, "April! April! Let me in! Are you okay? April?" the last name is not a statement, more or a question and he turns back to me, breathing quickly, and visibly shaking. "Mark, something's wrong, I just know, something's wrong."

I finally climb the last steps of the steep staircase and I open the door. Panicky Roger had always brought out the calm in me. We balanced each other. I thought that would have changed with the recent developments in our friendship, but apparently not.

Roger was shouting now, "APRIL! APRIL!" he looked in every room he could think of… but missed the most obvious one – the bathroom. I nervously knocked and called her name, and when I received no response, I tried to turn the knob – it's locked.

Roger saw my sad and lame attempt, and walked over and shouldered the door open. I stepped back and he ran in. I let them have their space until I heard the most terrible sound in the world. I heard Roger take a deep, unsteady breath, and then the catch in his voice and a sob.

Roger was crying. I then decided privacy was no longer necessary and walked straight into the bathtub. Nothing could've prepared me for the sight before me. Roger was in the bathtub, fully dressed, and holding a naked April, in just a few inches of water. But something is off about the color, the water is tinged slightly pink - and it seems to stem from April, I try to avoid looking at her – she is naked, after all – but something is terribly wrong. That's when I see it, one of each arm, going the opposite way of the track mark, deep looking slits in April's wrists. No wonder she had wanted me gone. Roger is crying into her hair and all I can think is I have to get him out of there. I can't look at them anymore so I turn to the opposite wall, forgetting that's where the mirror is. So, I can still see their reflections, but it's blurred my more pinkish purple. April had left a note… 3 small words, written in April's amazingly neat print.

_We have AIDS._

* * *

**A/N:** I am soooo evil right? Ha. Hope you… liked it? The writing, not what happens. Lol. R&R!


	12. I'm Sorry

Maureen had never been one for being quiet, so I sensed something was wrong when she did not greet me as I entered the loft with groceries and Roger's AZT. "Mo, what is it?"

"Roger." She answered. I frowned, one word answers are never good signs from Maureen.

"What did he do?" I asked, fearfully. Roger had been unpredictable for months now, he always seemed to be doing better – we were going through withdrawal for months now – but every once in awhile he slipped.

"He hit me Mark. He hit me." She said, but I feel like that's not even the whole problem. And I'm beginning to think that Roger isn't the only problem here. Even as these thoughts go through my head I feel my anger flare up at Roger, but I take a deep breath remembering that I have to be the calm.

Between Roger and Maureen, I always have to mediate. Maureen's dramatics and Roger's withdrawal, I need to be the one who is always there for them, because I love them both; differently of course, but love them both nonetheless.

I sit Maureen down on the couch and I sit on the coffee table as I face her. I take her hands in mine. "Are you hurt?" and even as I ask it I can see the bruise forming over her right brow.

"Of course I'm hurt Mark." She answers bluntly, subtlety had never been her strong point, "He fuckin' punched me!" her voice is rising in volume and octaves now, and I return to focusing on being calm.

"He doesn't mean it – you know that, sometimes he can't help himself," I explain carefully, never knowing how Maureen will react even after dating her for seven months. Roger's addiction and withdrawal is always a touchy subject – with both my girlfriend and my best friend.

"Mark, I'm sick of you making excuses for him. I'm sick of you going out of your way to protect him – you should want to protect me! I'm your girlfriend!" and now Maureen is on her feet and her arms are crossed in front of her chest, and I don't understand how she can mad at me for caring about my friend. "It's been 5 months! I don't think the Roger you're looking for is ever coming back – ever."

I bristled, "That's not true, and you know it's not true. He's in there. This can't be easy for him, but every day he's making an improvement."

"How is beating up your girlfriend an improvement Mark? HOW?" she shouted the last word and I cringed. "I can't do this anymore, you always put him first!"

And all of a sudden it hits me – what is really bothering Maureen. "Maureen – this isn't about Roger is it?" I asked in a voice as cold as ice.

She froze, took a deep breath, blinked slowly, and sat back down. I followed her lead. Her silence is scarier than her fury. Angry Maureen I can deal with. Loud shouting Maureen I can handle. Silent, brooding Maureen confused me.

Finally she spoke, in a voice barely about a whisper, "It is and it isn't."

I don't understand and I tell her so.

"It's about Roger. It's about me. And it's about you." Maureen continued in her whisper, "It's about all three of us… and one more person."

"What do you mean one more person?" I asked confused, "Has Collin called? Is he okay? Is it Benny?"

Maureen shook her head, and I am surprised when I see tear fall from her chocolate eyes, "It's not anyone you know – you've never met h-them."

I'm scared now, what could possibly be making Maureen so upset, "Maureen, please, can you just tell me what it is? Blunt, and quick, like ripping a band-aid off."

Maureen looked up at me, meeting my eyes for the first time. "Mark, I'm leaving you. I can't deal with Roger and with you putting Roger first anymore I just can't do it." She held up her hands as I went to interrupt her, "There's someone else Mark, I've been seeing someone else for awhile."

It hits me like a ton of bricks but I can't really process it. Who had she been seeing on the side? How could she? Doesn't she know how much I love her? Even as all these questions pounded in my brain, I only uttered one.

"What's his name?" I finally asked, as I realize Maureen is now dragging her small suitcase out of our room and close to the sliding door.

"You really don't want to know that," Maureen told me, pushing the heavy door open and turned her back on me.

As she started down the stairs, I called after her one more time, "What his name?" I had to know, I needed to know.

Maureen paused on the bottom of the first flight of stairs, she turned back to face me with tears in her eyes and whispered, "Joanne."

Even though my world has fallen apart at the seams, I did not fall apart myself. I had other people – excuse me, person now – that I needed to take care of. I had to be strong for Roger. He still needed me.

So I walked over to Roger's room, and gently knocked on the door. I was surprised when I heard a muffled "Come in." because normally Roger just ignored me until I forced my way in. I opened the door and found Roger huddle on his bed, though he was on top of his covers.

"Hey, Rog – you okay?" I questioned, and am slightly worried when he shook his head no.

I went to sit down on the end of his bed, "Wanna tell me what's wrong?"

Roger sat up and looked at me, and said in a small, disappointed voice, "I hit Maureen, I hit a girl."

I sighed, Maureen was really the last person I wanted to talk about right now, even thinking her name broke my heart into a million pieces. "I know, she told me."

"Mark, this has to stop."

"I know – it will."

"I've never hit a girl before - not even when I was high…" Roger trailed off.

"Well, you won't have to worry about it anymore," I told him and Roger looked up perplexed, "Maureen dumped me." Saying the words aloud just make the statement more true and take a shuddering breath reminding myself that I can't, not under any circumstances, break down in front of the already broken Roger.

Roger sat up a little straighter and moved to sit closer to me, "Mark, it's all my fault-"

"No, Roger, it's not." I cut him off.

Roger glared at me and I shut up. "Listen Mark, I'm sorry. I'm sorry about everything."

**A/N:** Okay, so I know this is really, really, short, but I felt so bad for not updating in months and I just wanted to let you know that this fic has not been abandoned. I'm still here! I started university so my life's kind of crazy busy and stuff, but today this came to me, and I wanted to put something up just to let you all know I'm still alive! Okay, enough excuses, I hope to have the next chapter up way sooner than this. R&R.


	13. December 24th, 9pm, EST

A/N: Hope you enjoy this and Merry Christmas!

* * *

The little improvements started right after Maureen had left, and Roger had apologized. He was no longer violent. He no longer asked for smack, though sometimes I still caught the glint of want in his eyes. He seemed surly, but I supposed I could understand that.

I was also doing better. Or so I liked to think. I hadn't cried when Maureen had left, already to use to locking up my feelings, but I had felt like my heart broke again with every single breath I took. I started sleeping on the couch for awhile because I couldn't bear to be in the same bed that Maureen and I had shared and well, you know, in.

Sometimes I would lie awake at night, on the couch, staring at the ceiling, and often times I found myself muttering weird phrases about Maureen, like, "How could she?" and " I can't believe she's gone." My emotions swirled in the most awful of ways, anger and hate, to longing and love. I couldn't deny that I missed her, but it hurt too much, so I did what I had done before when I was hurt, I hid those feelings, pushing them down, saving face for myself and my roommate.

Roger stayed in room a lot, but I stayed in the living area, always prepared, knowing that before Roger had made bids for what he considered freedom. I thought I would lose my voice from my almost solitude. I hardly spoke to anyone, now that Maureen had not only dumped me, but also fired me from my production manager position of her protest that was to be performed on Christmas Eve. Even though I was seriously glad to see even the small advances in Roger, I felt I may go insane before he ever began to speak again.

One day, I came face to face with Roger as I headed to the bathroom and he headed from it. He smiled at me, and muttered a quiet, "Hey."

That smile and single syllable, helped me remain sane in one of the worst months I had ever found myself facing.

* * *

I first noticed a major improvement in Roger at the end of November, and throughout early December. He began to join me at the table, or on the couch for meals. He was still very quiet, he rarely spoke. And when he did utter a single word, it was in a rough cracked voice, from lack of use. I wondered if he would ever sing again.

I still monitored him closely, afraid that these good times would quickly turn to bad, Roger had been known to relapse, how was I to know this time would be different?

But still, Roger no longer locked himself away, and though he didn't eat much he did eat. And he didn't try and avoid me any longer. Since Maureen had left I had been feeling very lonely, and even having Roger sit beside me silently, was better than pacing an empty loft.

* * *

It's nearing the end of December, and the end of Roger being clean for about half a year. I'm silently celebrating, but Roger is still being quite moody. I'm not sure that will ever change. Then again, if I think back, Roger had always been moody, it was just more pronounced now.

I made us both coffee, and handed him a mug, as he drummed his fingers absentmindedly on the side of the worn-out couch. "Mark…"

"Yeah, Rog?" I instantly replied, happy that lately Roger seemed to be at least talking on a regular basis.

"I want to play my guitar – but I don't know where it is… did I…" Roger trailed off, unable to complete his unspoken fear of a broken instrument.

I smiled, and Roger looked relieve, "I have it, hold on."

I slowly walked to my door, and reach under my bed to retrieve the keys to the padlock that keeps my tiny closet closed. I unlocked the lock and slid the door open, carefully retrieving the old, but still in good condition guitar.

I brought it out to Roger, and he grinned, sending my heart soaring, any smile from Roger during those days was a miracle. As I handed it to him, his grin quickly faded as he ran a hand to down the strings and instead of a pleasant chord, and unpleasant noise was heard.

* * *

I had decided to be done with scripts, and was going to make a documentary. I sucked as a writer, but maybe just maybe I could succeed as simply a director, especially if I had real-life situations to help me along. Now that Roger was a lot better than even a month ago, and supremely better than after April had died, I could enjoy my passion again. I had missed filming.

I cranked the camera and paced the loft, trying to warm myself in the heatless loft. "Smile," I said; half-joking, half-encouraging as I glanced at Roger strumming his guitar with a frown on his face. "December 24th, 9pm, Eastern Standard Time, from here on in, I shoot without a script, see if anything comes of it, first shot, Roger, tuning the fender guitar he hasn't played. in a year."

"This won't tune!" Roger complained.

"So we hear," I retorted, what did he expect, a perfectly tuned guitar? That instrument has been locked in my closet for the past year, it's obviously a bit out of shape. "He's just coming back from half a year of withdrawal," I narrated.

"Are you talking to me?" Roger asked.

"Not at all," I protested, and it was true. I had been informing what I hoped to be my future audience. "Are you ready? Hold that focus steady, tell the folks at home, what you're doing Roger."

Roger reluctantly complied, "I'm writing one great song," he started to sing, but was cut off with the phone ringing.

"Saved," Roger muttered.

"We screen, zoom in on the answering machine." As soon as I figured out that my mother, I zoned out and focused on Roger and smiled. I was so glad to see him with his guitar again. Music and Roger were just meant to be. I hadn't been able to trust him to not destroy his pride and joy before. But lately Roger had been a lot better. Six months ago I wasn't even sure if Roger would live to play his guitar again.

As Roger laughed at my mother's advice about Maureen, I can barely hear the "Love, Mom!"

I quickly turned the attention back to the absent-mindedly strumming Roger, "Tell the folks at home what you're doing Roger!" I tried again.

"I'm writing one great song…"

I groaned, as the familiar sound is heard again. "The phone rings!"

"Yes!" a grateful whisper from Roger is heard.

"We screen…"

A deep and comforting voice greeted us, singing, "Chestnuts roasting -"

"COLLINS!" Roger and I shouted in unison as I picked up the phone.

"I'm downstairs!"

"HEY!" we both shouted again.

"Roger picked up the phone?" Collins questioned, sound surprised but please.

"No, it's me," I answered quickly.

"Throw down the key," Collin's requested.

I ran to the fire escape and tossed the keys, a little farther to the left than I was intending and Collins had to lean down to catch them.

"A wild night is now pre-ordained!" I completed, not even realizing how very true those words would later prove to be

* * *

THE END

* * *

A/N: I can't believe it's over! But I just needed to finish it and I promised a quicker and longer update! Also, I believe that this a perfect time of year, because since I have finished writing this at 1:36am, it is less than 24 hours until Christmas Eve… which is where my journey ended, but RENT began. Poetic is it not? Also I used the musical opening as opposed to the movie opening, I feel it fits better. As always R&R.

MERRY CHRISTMAS BITCHES!


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